


Ignition

by Revolutionary_Queen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Family, Avengers Feels, Because of Reasons, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, D/s undertones, Darcy Lewis & Thor Friendship, Darcy Lewis Feels, Darcy Lewis-centric, F/M, Fix-It, Groot has a skittle obsession, Healing, Infinity Stones, Intense, Jane Foster & Darcy Lewis Friendship, M/M, Nomad Steve Rogers, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Plot Twists, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, The Avengers Need a Hug, The Thor and Darcy sibling relationship we all never knew we needed, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Trauma, What Have I Done, because I’m dramatic as fuck, bucky barnes is a smooth talker, but we love them anyway, did I mention slow burn?, dystopian feel, eventual sexytimes, except they're not siblings, love in a time of war, plot driven romance, so much plot, steve rogers beard, steve rogers forearms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 292,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revolutionary_Queen/pseuds/Revolutionary_Queen
Summary: Darkness fell.  Friends vanished.  All hope seemed lost.  Thanos and his army did the unthinkable and won.  Now, occupying the earth, he wields the full power of the infinity stones.  What is left of the Avengers must go into hiding or be hunted down for sport.In a world where ultimate power is unlimited, Darcy Lewis discovers the strength and resilience in what is most fragile and brings back to the Avengers what they desperately need—humanity.An Endgame fix-it fic.  Slowburn.  WinterShieldShock.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Darcy Lewis & Thor, Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers, Groot/Skittles/Red Bull, James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis, James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Jane Foster & Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster/Thor, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 1916
Kudos: 1229





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there demons (I mean, friends), it’s me, ya gurl. Let’s see if I remember how to do this.
> 
> Oh god. I’m nervous as fuck.

“You do realize that if this works Apple is probably going to try to find a way to sue your ass, or worse.”

Darcy was twisted sideways, short legs dangling over the padded leather arm of the luxurious new office chair she and Jane had splurged on last month, though considering the fact that Jane had a weird aversion to any and all furniture and could almost always be found huddled on the floor somewhere, Darcy wasn’t sure why they bought it at all. 

Of course, that didn’t mean _she_ wasn’t going to use it. 

“What’s worse?” Jane asked distantly, her voice floating up from a corner of their living room/makeshift office. Sliding one leg off of the armrest, Darcy used the tip of her toes to push against the cool tile floor and spun around to get a better view of her favorite lady friend genius.

Jane was sitting beneath the large, open window, knees folded in to her chest, scribbling away in a ratty notebook that was splayed open on her thighs. Soft morning light from the window fell on her like a spotlight, and her bronze hair glinted and glittered in it like a living thing. Jane’s lips were moving silently, whiskey colored eyes shocking in their alertness given the hour. 

It was an early morning for them, or perhaps it was a very late night, seeing as neither of them had ever actually fallen asleep the night before. 

Darcy took in all of these details and more as she sprawled lazily in her sunglasses, baggy jean shorts, and purple Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt that she got out of the juniors section in Target (because _Cowabunga_ , dude). Dark brows rose above the rim of her even darker glasses. “Worse would be attracting the attention of _You-Know-Who_.”

There was a slight pause in the scratching of Jane’s pencil. “Stark wouldn’t be interested in this.”

“Correction, Stark is interested in _you_.” 

For the record, referring to Tony Stark by a name synonymous with the dark wizard, Voldemort, was Jane’s idea, not Darcy’s. The tiny woman had issues with Stark that Darcy didn’t quite understand but then again, Darcy had never met him and Jane had. Darcy was a loyal friend though and if Jane didn’t like the man, Darcy was more than happy to join in the man-hating club until he earned his way out of it.

Jane’s face puckered like she had taken a big bite of a lemon and the words wrenched from her lips as bitter as the yellow fruit, “I bet he’s never touched duct tape in his life.”

“Well,” Darcy drawled pushing her sunglasses further up the ridge of her nose with the tip of a finger, “certainly not the kind with cartoon pizzas printed on it.” 

Jane’s pencil paused again, stuttering on the page. Her eyes flickered up for the first time since their conversation started and she looked as though someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water on her.

“ _Pizza!_ ” Jane gasped, blinking rapidly, “Darcy, you never told me how last night went!”

 _And here we go_ , Darcy sighed inwardly.

“You were working and I know this,” Darcy motioned to the hefty radio telescope and the chunky black plastic contraption of wires and metal next to it with a flap of her hand, “is important.”

Jane sat up straight, wincing out a soft, “I’m sorry.” She set down her notebook and pencil beside her and looked at Darcy with a clear and focused gaze. “So, what happened?”

Darcy stared at Jane for a long moment, suddenly sharply grateful for the natural barrier and protection the sunglasses she wore offered, and then very carefully let her head fall back to rest against the chair. Her shoulders lifted in a light shrug and all she could bring herself to say was, “Nothing.”

A beat of silence.

“What do you mean ‘nothing’?”

“I mean _nothing_ happened.”

Jane’s expression darkened. “Did he stand you up?”

“Yep,” Darcy told her without hesitation, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously. She tried her hardest to school her voice so it kept her impenetrable shield of _okay-ness_ perfectly in place. No one ever liked getting stood up on a date but this one… this one stung more than it should have for reasons that Darcy wasn’t entirely ready to examine closer. When she spoke next, her voice was purposefully light, “But hey, his no-show meant more pizza for me. I even brought you home some, the disgusting kind you like with pineapple. It’s in the fridge.”

Jane frowned fiercely at her (which was odd, because normally pizza cheered her up, much like the turtles on Darcy’s t-shirt). Her friend didn’t say anything for a long time and then her gaze cast off to the side for a moment before flashing back to Darcy’s decisively.

“Let’s kill him.”

The funny thing about Jane was that while the woman couldn’t even bring herself to smoosh a bug, even the gross kind that deserved to be smooshed, she wouldn’t think twice before putting someone who hurt those she loved six feet under. It was adorable, really.

In a potential serial killer kind of way.

“I appreciate the notion, my Mad Scientist,” Darcy told her and scrunched her nose, “but he was trash anyway. We both know all too well that my luck with romance leaves much to be desired. I should have known not to play around with this whole online dating shit show.” Jane’s eyes narrowed dangerously and something about the look told Darcy that she would be wise to delete her profile on the dating app so Jane couldn’t find a way to access the asshole’s information and possibly hunt him down. Shaking her head, she swallowed and cleared her throat, “Let’s focus on the _TeleThor_.”

Jane sent her a look that said ‘ _You’re deflecting but I’ll allow it_ ’ and picked her notebook back up with a delicate sniff. “I am not calling it that.”

“Well _I_ am. It’s catchy and sounds almost like a dinosaur and we both know how much the Big Guy loves those.” It was true. Thor was a massive fan of the creatures and laughed with glee any time they appeared in any film they made him watch. Plus, she had already photoshopped a great logo for it that featured a T-Rex with Thor’s face.

“It’s corny.”

Darcy snorted and spun a full circle in her chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling, “Be thankful, Janie. It could have been ‘Talk To Aliens dot com’, but that was already copyrighted by some bastard down in Connecticut years ago who wanted to charge people so they could project fucking Craigslist ads into space. I mean, who _does_ that?”

“A tiny mercy,” Jane muttered distractedly, brows that had been plucked to perfection pinched together in deep concentration. Darcy watched, like clockwork, the moment everything about the woman sharpened to a point; the tiny astrophysicist inhaled suddenly and stood in a flash, moving over to the table where the jumbled bits and pieces of the _TeleThor_ lay. The frenzied look on her face was one that Darcy knew all too well, had seen it possess the woman on more than one occasion. 

Jane had figured something out, or was close to an important breakthrough.

“Atta girl,” Darcy said quietly with a small, proud smile.

She watched her friend’s fingers reach for her gloves and the small soldering iron they had found at Walmart. Narrowing her eyes, Darcy grunted and gracelessly clamored out of the chair, snagging the fire extinguisher from the hall closet and carried it over, setting it down on the opposite end of the table with a heavy _thunk_. Just in case.

Jane didn’t even notice.

Thin wires spewed in disarray out of the back and sides of the chunky black device like an electrical water fountain with one thicker wire connecting it to the base of the radio telescope (which, by the way, was heavy as fuck). Jane sifted through the smaller wires furiously, searching for something specific and, not for the first time, Darcy found herself sincerely hoping this machine worked. Jane was not someone who often let her emotions get mixed into her work, she was clinical and clear headed when it came to all things science, but Darcy could see, clear as day, the strings of her friend’s heart reaching out to intertwine with the machine, willing it into being.

There was a time not too long ago that she might have teased Jane for spending weeks creating an intergalactic communication and translation device from scratch so that she could send and receive frequencies and messages with her deep space boyfriend wherever he was in the universe, but not now. 

Not after New York was invaded.

 _Fucking again_.

Three days ago a giant donut spaceship (Jane told her not to call it that but that’s exactly what it looked like) landed in New York City and the Avengers had answered. Thor had yet to make an appearance but both women knew that he was somehow involved in the fight, most likely off planet, because just as quickly as it arrived in all of its destructive glory (seriously, Darcy would hate to be an insurance agent in that city at this point), the ship and its occupants left. There was no great battle here on earth like there had been with Loki and for that, everyone was grateful.

Since aliens invasions were apparently going to be a thing these days, she and Jane tried to go about life the last three days as normally as possible having long understood at this point that there was literally _nothing_ they could do. They were confident in the Avengers and their abilities, but underneath the surface, there was a reason why neither of them could sleep and why Jane spent nearly every waking moment working furiously on this project.

Maybe if they couldn’t play a part in physically saving the world (Destroyer and Dark Elves aside), then they could at least do something useful. Or at least Jane’s brain could.

Not much else would be as useful as a communication device with a range like the _TeleThor_ would have.

Darcy had hunted down the skeletal remains of a small radio telescope from Jerry’s pawnshop on Washington and Lennox and haggled with him until he gave in to the price she was offering. Carrying it to her car and then into their small townhouse had been hell but the elation on Jane’s face was worth the physical exertion. The radio telescope wasn’t much to look at initially but once Jane got her hands on it, she reworked it from the inside out and specified it to fit her needs.

That was one of the many things that Darcy loved about Jane. After Thor’s initial visit to earth, after the Destroyer, after the Bifrost, after the Foster Theory became a reality and their lives irrevocably changed, Jane had all the opportunity in the world to become filthy rich and lecture anywhere and any place she wished. 

Only she didn’t. 

She wasn’t even tempted to, even though the money would be a nice addition, or at least take some of the worry and burden from their shoulders. Jane, however, was a different kind of breed and the way she put it (after a lot of vodka): she had started this journey making her own equipment from scratch and that’s how she was going to end it. She would be beholden to no one. 

Privately, Darcy wondered if part of the reason was because Jane was frightened that a big alphabet government organization would show up on their doorstep and raid their apartment to steal all of her equipment again. SHIELD’s actions down in New Mexico have never been forgiven by either woman and most likely never would. 

Fucking iPod thieves.

Small plumes of smoke wafted up from Jane’s workspace as she welded together intricate pieces of the _TeleThor_ and Darcy knew it would be a while before her friend, or as Thor liked to say, _sister of her heart_ , resurfaced. Yawning after a long, sleepless, and disappointing night she blinked slowly, her eyelashes feeling as though they each had tiny, individual weights on them, dragging her deeper into exhaustion. 

Darcy hummed to herself and wrote a note to Jane on the whiteboard (the most effective way of communicating when Jane was _in the zone_ ) letting her know she was catching some z’s and to make sure she ate some of the pizza in the fridge before shuffling her way back to her bedroom.

Before drifting off, Darcy pulled out her phone and scrolled through the news briefly, scanning for anything about the Avengers. Seeing nothing noteworthy, she frowned and then opened the dating app she had tried and shut the door firmly on her profile, ignoring the stinging in her chest and the burning in her eyes as she did.

* * *

She woke with a jolt.

Air filled her lungs in a sudden rush, like breaking the surface from a deep water dive; her eyes shot open, heart in her throat. A hand loomed over her and Darcy flinched back, blinking at it. 

“I did it,” Jane said, her voice shaking. Sleep riddled eyes followed the arm up to Jane’s ecstatic face and Darcy wondered why her friend’s eyes were red and her cheeks wet. Jane grinned and a small, wet laugh escaped her chest, “Get _up_ , Darcy. It _works_.”

She turned and left after that, knowing the younger woman would follow. It took two seconds to register in her brain and then Darcy was a mass of flailing limbs as she hurriedly tried to escape the warmth of her bed. It was no easy thing. She had used her comforter to turn herself into a human burrito and regretted it now as her arms and legs were impossibly tangled. It took considerable effort and focus to free herself from the constraints, but once she did, she padded her way down the short hallway and into the open room in bare feet, hurriedly adjusting her boobs back into the proper confines of her bra as she did. Jane’s back was to her, hunched over the table, peering at the machine that reminded Darcy of the original cell phones, chunky and straight out of the nineties. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” Jane was muttering, bouncing lightly from foot to foot, a tinge of frustration in the movement. Darcy approached her side as Jane took hold of the _TeleThor_ and banged it twice on the table, a common sight in their home when something wasn’t working like it was supposed to.

What Darcy wasn’t expecting though was the crackling _zap_ that surged out of the machine, lighting up Jane’s hand with spindly tendrils of glowing, white hot electricity.

“Shit!” Darcy yelped and nearly fell over trying to get away. Jane dropped the machine out of reflex and froze, her fingers stretched out wide and shaking, the tendons straining to escape her skin. Gasping, Darcy rushed back to her side in a panic. “ _Oh my god_ , Jane, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jane wheezed out, staring at her recently electrocuted hand in wide-eyed shock. “I’m fine.”

Her voice didn’t sound fine.

Darcy watched as Jane flexed her hand and then closed it in a fist and pulled it to her chest. She did not miss the way that it shook. “Did that hurt?”

Jane shook her head and swallowed, like something was stuck in her throat. “No,” she said, weakly. Her eyes flicked to Darcy’s, mouth frowning, and then louder, “ _No_.”

The machine made a strange crackling sound and both women took a cautious step back when a wire snapped loose from the side with another zap of electricity causing the entire contraption to pop up in the air and land back down on the table.

“Is it me,” Darcy started, staring down at the machine warily, “or is this project more zappy than usual?” When Jane said nothing, Darcy shook her head, eyes perfect circles. “I guess it really is the _TeleThor_.”

“I swear it was working earlier,” Jane told her, sounding more like herself, and then in a huff of frustration, she reached for the duct tape. “I just need to fix it.”

“I believe you,” Darcy assured her honestly, then her mouth twisted and she squinted at the machine before reaching out to stop the woman. “But _eh_ , Janie, let’s switch from duct tape to electrical tape—just in case.”

As though it understood, the machine made another popping sound and Jane’s eyes flashed to it. They waited a moment and when nothing else happened, Jane deflated, shoulders slumped, and she nodded.

“Good idea.”

Darcy moved past the smaller woman and knelt down, digging in a plastic container they kept under the office desk. “If it does that again,” Darcy began, sifting through their supplies with a frown, “we should use the fire extinguisher.”

“No!” Jane shouted. “We can’t—that would ruin it. Believe it or not, it’s a delicate machine.”

“Yeah, delicate or not, I also don’t want my friend electrocuted for the sake of science—damnit,” Darcy sat back on her heels and grimaced, looking up at Jane. “Bad news, boss lady, looks like we’re all out of electrical tape. I’ll run to the store and get some,” Jane nodded absently, still staring at the _TeleThor_ and clutching her hand to her chest. Darcy watched her and pursed her lips, “You should come with me.” The scientist’s eyes flashed to hers and Darcy gave her an encouraging grin. “Get some vitamin D, breathe the fresh air, caffeinate, might be a good idea to ground yourself to the earth and all that shit.”

Jane looked like she wanted to argue and stay but at the last moment, she dropped her chin to her chest and sighed, declaring, “For the caffeine.”

Darcy nodded happily. “A worthy cause.”

* * *

Boston had not been what Darcy expected. Initially when they moved to this city she had pictured cold stone statues and old libraries packed with yellowed historic documents; being a history buff, that thought alone was exciting. But she learned quickly that Boston was other things, too. There were parks where people went on picnics and houses with fenced in yards filled with trees and soft grass. It was vibrant and filled with color and in the spring there were flowers blooming everywhere. That was Darcy’s favorite thing about the city. Seeing life return even after the cold grip of winter; the air filled with hope.

She and Jane had forgone taking their car opting to get some exercise in and suck in as many lungful’s of fresh air as they could. The stop at the hardware store had been quick and easy, the walk to the coffee shop peaceful and sunny. 

Starbucks wasn’t her favorite but it would do in a pinch. Glancing at the state of Jane, Darcy decided that this was definitely a pinch. 

Inside there was a line as coffee addicts poured in for their lunchtime fix. The two women took their place in line and while they waited, Darcy pulled out her phone, briefly scrolling the news. She had an alert set for certain keywords or phrases, mostly relating to Thor or the Avengers. She frowned when, still, there was nothing. No sightings of Ironman, Captain America, or even the Hulk.

All of them were gone.

Something about it wasn’t—

“Darcy?” Jane called and her head snapped up, realizing with a flare of embarrassment that the barista was waiting for her order.

“Oh, um, venti vanilla sweet cream cold brew, please,” she pulled out her wallet but Jane, the sneaky bitch, was already paying for both. Darcy sent her a mock glare and the other woman rolled her eyes.

“You can get the next ones.”

“Deal,” Darcy agreed easily. It had always been like that for the two of them, taking turns paying for meals or drinks if they were together. They moved out of the way of other customers and Darcy nodded her chin to the empty space near the pick-up counter since all the tables were taken.

Leaning back against the wall, Darcy sighed, her muscles feeling oddly tight. Jane was biting a nail, eyes flitting off to the side. Darcy watched her.

“Everything okay, Janie?”

Jane’s pretty eyes flicked to hers and she opened her mouth to respond but at that moment a young man, not yet out of his teens, dropped a drink from behind the counter, splattering it everywhere. All heads in the place turned to the accident but Darcy had worked in the food industry before and she knew how embarrassing it was to drop something and have everyone stare at your clumsiness. She politely glanced away.

Until the screaming started.

Darcy whipped around, taking in the horrified, bone white face of the woman in her uniform and headset behind the counter. She was… she was staring right where the young man who dropped the drink had been… but he was nowhere to be seen.

Outside, the sky was clear and sunny but it cracked regardless with a deep, rolling thunder and something in that sound—a deep, soul-shaking dread—entered Darcy and turned her blood to ice.

“What the hell,” she said in an exhale.

“Darcy?”

The soft, deeply frightened tone of Jane’s voice caused Darcy to frantically turn around and face her friend; her friend who was staring at her hands and trembling violently, her friend who was both brilliant and kind and taught her so much about love, her friend whose eyes lifted to hers in abject terror, her friend whose mouth fell open in a silent scream and whose skin began to flake and crack like a thirsty desert until she disintegrated into nothing but ash.

She fucking _disintegrated_.

Jane.

_JANE._

Darcy was frozen in shock and at the same time sinking, she was falling away from her body, her stomach twisting until it was violently ill. Everywhere around her, people started disappearing into thin air, their bodies becoming nothing but a thick, gray ash that coated the floor in a way that Darcy’s mind could not process. Everything locked down inside of her, except for clear, pulsing panic; Darcy couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, all she could do was _run_.

Bursting out of the door, she ran straight into someone—ran straight _through_ someone—as they turned to ash and a desperate, gasping noise crawled out of Darcy’s throat, twin streaks of hot tears raced down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop. There was a second great and terrible rumble rippling through the sky and she felt the reverberation of it in her very bones, and there were cars colliding in screeches of tearing metal and exploding glass.

She ran faster.

Her two dollar flip-flops were not meant for this kind of fear induced sprint and by the time she reached the corner of Newton Street the band on her right sandal had torn itself completely from the sole. Barely pausing in her run, half tripping, she kicked off both flimsy shoes in quick, jerky movements and continued barefoot, feet slapping against the sidewalks and streets as she willed her legs to _move_.

Chest aching, a cry tore from her throat as the townhouse finally came into view. Darcy stumbled up the steps, skin slick with sweat, muscles shaking, her pulse jumping in her throat. She slammed bodily into the door, throwing it open, and she was sliding into her home, skidding across the tile floors.

Her heart stopped.

There, in the middle of their living room, stood Thor. He was massive and filling the space in the small townhome, looking for all the world like he wanted to speak but couldn’t, and Darcy just stared at him, shaking so hard that her teeth clicked together, panic swirling deep in her belly, a soft keening noise escaping her chest.

Thor swallowed and he looked _scared_ and Darcy felt herself fall away.

“She’s gone,” her voice cracked, broken and raw and so very lost. Darcy’s eyes were red rimmed and bright and she shuffled a tiny step forward, body trembling. “She’s gone,” she said again and Thor stared at her as though she had struck him. Instantly, her fear twisted into _rage_. She moved swiftly, leaving bloody footprints in her wake, “Where were you, you asshole?” She shouted, “ _Where_ _were_ _you?!_ Jane is _gone!_ ”

Thor’s mouth opened and closed but he said nothing. That was when Darcy noticed the unshed tears in his eyes. Something in the god was breaking, or was already broken. But he was watching her, gaze flitting up and down, like he was frightened by what he saw. “Darcy… are you alright?”

She stared at him, not understanding his question. _Of course she wasn’t fucking alright, Jane just disintegrated into_ ash _._

He cautiously stepped closer and took her hand in his, lifting it up, and Darcy glanced down to see what he was looking at. Her skin was streaked with absolute filth. Her brows pulled low as she took in the state of her hands and arms and then looked down to her bare legs. 

_Where did all of this dirt come from?_

“Darcy?” Thor called to her, worry clear in his tone, but his voice sounded like it was miles away from here she stood now.

And then she knew and cold nausea was climbing up her body. 

Numb. Everything she was seemed to rush away from her head and she stared at her hands, feeling the blood drain from her face. She exhaled a very small, “Oh god.”

Ash.

She was covered in _human_ _ash_. 

Darcy’s legs gave out. Thor lurched forward, catching her before she could hit the ground, and she was tearing at her skin, trying to get it _off_ of her but it wasn’t _working_. Thor held her and murmured something she couldn’t hear in that deep, comforting voice. Finally he simply picked her up, big hands under her arms, like a father would do to a very small child, “Come with me.”

Unable to object, he carried her to the bathroom and used his elbow to jab the light switch. Darcy flinched back from the sudden burst of brightness. He set her on the counter and moved to the shower, flinging back the shower curtain hard enough that he tore it loose from all of the rings except for one. He twisted the knobs until a warm spray exploded from the faucet. After that, he turned back to her and picked her up once more, bodily stepping into the shower and under the spray with her.

“Can you stand?” Thor asked, his voice very quiet, rivulets of water flowed down his short hair into his face, gathering at his jaw.

Darcy felt groggy and not wholly present, but she nodded anyway, her fingernails digging into the metal armor covering his arms as the water soaked her clothes and hair until they were heavy and plastered to her skin. Oh god, her _skin_. Thor carefully lowered her to her feet, but he waited a moment, keeping his hands on her to be sure she wouldn’t topple over. Satisfied when she stayed put, the God of Thunder himself began to very gently wash the traces of horror from her skin and clothes. His hands were careful and calloused at the same time, clinical and trembling, and a hot lump began to fill very quickly in the base of her throat. Thor blurred as her eyes filled with tears and when his gaze flicked up to hers and she saw the raw look he wore and the tears pouring freely down his face, Darcy began to sob.

She cried for a long time, the two of them fully clothed and squashed in her small shower, ash from her skin and blood from his flowing down the drain, and she didn’t have the heart to tell Thor that he was using _Jane’s_ body wash on her, not her own.

But Jane was gone.

Her tears left her feeling raw, like she was ripped open. Eventually the water began to turn cool and she cried herself out. When he reached around her and turned off the shower, Darcy looked up at him, not realizing how she had been clinging to him the entire time.

“Thor,” she started, and then stopped, her face crumpling for a brief moment. Her eyes slid shut and she swallowed hard, “What happened?”

He was quiet for a long time and then he slid his hand behind her neck, cradling the back of her head, big fingers threading through her tangled, wet hair, and he pulled her forward as though he needed the contact, not just her.

“We lost,” was all Thor said. Her face was pressed against his chest and even through the armor she felt the rumble of his voice and the strangled breath he took in before exhaling, “We were never going to win."

* * *

Dark blood seeped down his body in hot, slick gushes. His chest had been nearly split in two and the pain was blinding; his lungs did not want to work. Hands gripped his flesh, bodies fluttering around the edges of his vision as he was laid on a medical bed. The scent of burnt flesh was strong and the skin on the side of his neck and face felt tight and everything in him burned. 

He was on fire but there were no flames, no columns of smoke; Thanos burned nonetheless. His veins roared with the echoing fingerprints of power from the stones on his gauntlet and if he were a lesser being, he would have been destroyed by the very thing in which he used to bring salvation to the universe.

It was fitting, almost.

“My Lord,” a voice to his left was saying with quiet urgency and he eventually was able to flick his heavy gaze in that general direction. Something in him eased at the sight of Ebony Maw, his most trusted and fervent follower. “This wound is very grave but it will not kill you. It will mend, with time and medicine.”

“It’s done.”

Ebony Maw stared at Thanos for a long moment and there was a deeply sated sort of glee in his eyes. “Yes, it is. You were victorious, dare I say _magnificent_.”

Sucking in a wet, stringy sort of breath, Thanos gasped out, “Such cost.”

“But it’s worth it, no?” Ebony Maw reasoned gently and then his eyes flicked up above Thanos, to whoever stood behind him and he nodded once before glancing back down. He hesitated, “My Lord, what must be done about the Avengers? Some still remain and we know that they are… _resourceful_ in spite of their human weakness.”

The room, despite the flurry of activity, fell silent, waiting, and then—

“If their shame does not kill them… then we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL THAT WAS DARK. 
> 
> Five things to expect here: first, this is a plot driven romance—meaning there is a LOT that is going to be happening but it is a slow burn (sweet torturous hell) and it will get there, I promise. Second, I’m rusty, so this might be rough around the edges. Third, I loved Endgame for what it was, it gave us some iconic moments in movie history (I legit threw my hands in the air and screamed like a banshee when Cap picked up Myew Myew), but I also desperately need to fix so many things about it. Fourth, I share sneak peeks and fun facts or manips on [my Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/). Fifth, I adore this community and would love to get to know any newcomers in the comments or catch up with the friends I already know. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and giving Ignition a shot. Tags will be updated at the story progresses and the summary may or may not change... I'm not 100% in in love with it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all survived the first chapter, congratulations! None of you were snapped and you are even back for round two. Let’s dive in.

The heel of his boots made a slow, quiet _tap, tap, tap_. It echoed in the room, alerting the rest of the Black Order to his presence. Their murmuring fell to a hush as their comrade approached. He was poised, his long robe swishing at his ankles, back straight, gait smooth, face giving absolutely nothing away. 

“He is resting,” Ebony Maw declared when he reached them, his tone muted with the news. “The regeneration chamber will help him greatly but it will require some time.” He paused, and seemed to gather something within himself, fortifying like a strong tower. He breathed in deeply before looking each of them in the eye. “For now, there is a hunt to be had.”

A beat of silence.

“Should we not wait for orders?” 

Ebony Maw turned his head slowly to stare at the female, his reptilian eyes piercing, voice dangerously soft. “Do you not know an order when you hear one?” Proxima Midnight said nothing in response and Ebony Maw continued. “The Avengers believe our Great Titan Thanos to be gravely wounded, they themselves are reeling from their grievous loss. They will not foresee an attack at this time, which is why we should move now while they are weak, limping, and licking their wounds.”

“A wounded creature can be twice as dangerous,” Corvus Glaive rasped out.

A cruel, mocking smile grew on Ebony Maw’s lips, “You sound as though you actually fear the Avengers.” 

Corvus Glaive bared his needle sharp teeth at the insult, blood red gums a harsh splash of color in his ghoulish face. A low, predatory growl crawled out from his chest. 

A warning.

The rest of the Black Order watched the exchange shifting on their feet, hunger in their eyes, but Ebony Maw did not rise to the bait. He merely stared with an air of aloofness before he gave them all a simpering kind of smile. It was not kind.

“There is nothing to fear,” he said easily with a shake of his head, “they are just human after all.”

* * *

“ _Ouch_ , Thor,” Darcy hissed, inhaling sharply.

“It would not hurt at all if you wore the proper protection for your feet,” Thor told her in a calm tone. He held her ankle in a steady grip, mercilessly cleaning the cuts on the soles of her feet.

“I don’t like shoes.”

It was true. She never had, even as a child Darcy would kick off anything containing her feet whenever possible; something about the feeling of being caged in made her twitchy.

“I am aware,” Thor’s eyes flashed to hers with no small amount of disapproval, “but what you like and what you need are two separate issues.”

Darcy opened her mouth to argue but it snapped shut when Thor ran an alcohol wipe from the first aid kit over the largest cut deep in the crevice of her big toe. Her eyes screwed shut, fingers curling into fists, as he efficiently and thoroughly removed all the dirt and debris. She had to admit, her run had done a number on her feet. After they left the shower, changed, and dried off it was Thor who noticed she was tracking bloody footprints all over the townhouse (she hadn’t even felt the physical pain until he drew attention to it). He had been oddly concerned with her injury and Darcy was too exhausted to fight him on his desire to patch her up.

Privately, a very small part of her thought that it was quite nice to be cared for in such a way and that maybe, just maybe, Thor needed to do something to feel like he was helping. So she let him, for both of their sakes.

“Try to keep still,” Thor instructed after Darcy shifted one too many times in her seat. Next he pulled the gauze out and began wrapping her feet, his actions easy and clearly well practiced. It gave Darcy pause.

“How many times have you done this?”

Thor’s hands stilled, his eyes slowly lifted and the look he offered her was unreadable. He sucked in a deep breath and there was something terribly sad in his voice when he spoke. “When you live as long as I have, through as much as I have, you learn a thing or two about medicine and wound care. This is simple enough. When I was a young boy, the healers in Asgard believed I had a gift for the art. Expectations though of the crown prince and future king of Asgard are that he be a fierce and brave warrior,” Thor offered her a tight lipped smile and it did not reach his eyes. “Not a healer. So that is what I became.”

Darcy nodded silently, taking that in and letting herself wonder, if only for a moment, what kind of life Thor might have lived if he had not been forced to be what the world expected of him. She said nothing of her thoughts but her gaze flickered between both of his eyes, searching, still trying to get used to his new haircut and the numerous other miniscule (and not so miniscule) changes about the god and her friend. The lines on his face told her he was weary, but so was she; both of them more subdued than they had ever been when together (usually Jane had to separate the two of them as they enjoyed egging each other on in childish antics). Centuries of love and loss swirled in Thor’s eyes, like galaxies within galaxies, and he just looked so _tired_.

Then… Darcy blinked.

Squinting, she leaned slightly closer, taking in the two different colors of Thor’s eyes for the first time with a small frown. The god was keenly aware of her assessment and he gave her a bittersweet kind of smile. Her lips parted in shock.

“Thor, how did this happen?” Darcy asked, softly. Her slim fingers reached out to brush over the puckered and painful looking scar where it began above his right eyebrow. 

Thor held very still as she did, letting her examine him. When she pulled back, he wet his lips. “It is a complicated story.”

Darcy was shaking her head, brows pinched and lifting in the middle, “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you come to us?”

Thor was quiet for a long time.

“I could not.”

Darcy’s eyes flashed. “Thor, we’re tougher than you think.”

“No, Darcy,” Thor said, firmer. His gaze bored in to her, searching, a thousand different emotions flitting across his face too quickly for Darcy to name. “I could not.”

It was the same words but her stomach plummeted to her feet, “You were captured?” When he did not respond immediately, her voice rose in pitch, distress bleeding in to her already frayed emotions, “ _Tortured?!_ ”

“Hush,” Thor lifted a hand, trying to console her. He swallowed, like he was in desperate need of something to drink or had something stuck in his throat. “I am here now, Darcy,” he said, voice dropping low and it shook with emotion. “Maybe I am too late, but I am _here_.”

He stared up at her so earnestly, willing her to understand, and something inside her gave way, breaking a little further, crumbling down the gaping hole that had been ripped through her just hours before. Thor’s face became blurry as tears welled in her eyes. She reached out, pulling him to her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She shook as she hugged him, whispering, “Thank you for coming.”

Impossibly strong arms squeezed back, latching on as though he needed the hug just as much as she did. Pulling back, she swiped at her eyes, blinking rapidly up at the ceiling, and he swiftly finished wrapping the gauze. When he was finished his giant hands engulfed the top of her feet until her eyes met his and he gave her a no-nonsense look.

“You will give your wounds time to heal. No unnecessary walking,” he said with the utmost seriousness, and then his eyes narrowed, “and you _will_ wear proper footwear when required.”

Ducking her head at the chastisement, she nodded in agreement. Part of her felt this was overreaction to her minor injuries, but Thor seemed to have made up his mind about it. Pleased, Thor had her continue sitting while he went to her room and brought her some sneakers. He had no trouble finding them seeing that she only had one pair (she was much more of a flip flop and strappy sandals type of girl—or boots in the winter). The blond god set them on the floor right below her feet.

Darcy stared down at the shoes, a thought rolling over her, piercing through the heavy fog of emotion and numbness that had settled around her shoulders like a thick blanket that she couldn’t shake off. “Thor?” She called, her voice very small, her bright eyes flashing up to his questioning gaze. “What happens now?”

“We pack your things,” Thor told her gently.

She frowned.

“Where are we going?”

He just looked at her for a long time and then he knelt down once more so that he was only slightly taller than she was in the chair. Calloused, warm hands that had torn through flesh and bone took hold of hers in the same way they would hold a fragile, baby bird. “I’m taking you with me to the Avengers,” Thor told her, his voice a low rumble. “Darcy, I fear that all of this is about to get much worse and I cannot think straight if you are in danger. I cannot lose another person I care about. _I will not_.”

She stared at him, her expression giving nothing away.

The Avengers. 

She was going to finally meet the Avengers—after all of these years. Darcy used to joke with Jane about what it would be like if she ever got to tag along with her and Thor to go meet the Supers in their tower or on one of the compounds; she used to laugh about what clever or hilarious questions she would ask, they even made bets about how quickly she could get Stark to kick her out.

Now… now she wished she wasn’t going at all. 

Funny, how things change.

“Okay,” Darcy whispered, leaning back a little. She let out a trembling sort of breath and then groaned feeling her stupid eyes try to leak again. But _goddamnit_ , she couldn’t _stop_ them.

“They are good people, Darcy,” Thor ran his thumbs over the back of her hands. “You have nothing to fear of them.” 

Darcy had her eyes squeezed shut and pressed her lips together, nodding. “I know,” she sniffled miserably, her nose so clogged that it gave her voice a nasal quality. “It’s just…” She started and looked at him, her eyes lined in shadows. Her face was very pale and it crumbled. “I wish Jane was coming, too. She _should_ be here. With us.”

Thor did not say anything for a long time and Darcy didn’t have the heart to look and see the pain he was carrying when she already bore so much of her own.

“So do I,” Thor finally agreed quietly, his voice not exactly shaking. “More than I have the heart to even say aloud.”

“It’s really weird without her,” Darcy sighed out. Weird wasn’t the right word— _wrong_ was more like it. Before another round of tears could get the chance to build, Darcy ran a heavy hand over her face, rubbing at it fiercely—almost angrily. “God, I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I’ll pull myself together before we go, I promise… just… just give me a bit.”

“Darcy, listen to me,” Thor ducked his head, catching her gaze and holding it captive. “You are in mourning. We all are. It is a far more courageous thing to face it head on as you are now than what I am inclined to do with my grief,” he lifted his hand and slowly brushed it across her cheek, catching a tear on his fingertip before it could make its journey to her jaw. It sat on his skin like a precious gem, catching the light. He held it up between them and everything else around them came to a standstill. “Do not think your tears are a waste or a burden. They are proof of your love, how deeply and well you love, Darcy. Do not despise them for they will not last forever.” Thor seemed to choke on a lump in his throat. “We walk this path together, you and I, and I will not leave you to walk it alone.”

Slowly, oh so slowly, Darcy’s gaze lifted from the teardrop Thor held. Quietly, she searched his face and his heart was in his eyes and possibly in her hands, too. 

Finally, she breathed out—

“ _Together_.”

* * *

He stared blankly out the window, hands empty and useless at his sides, as the city fell into twilight. It cast a muted gray coating of light on the street. Haunting wails mourning the lives lost rang through the streets like a soundtrack from hell.

_How did it come to this?_

It was a bitter taste in his mouth; failure. Steve Rogers had swallowed down more failure in these last two years than he was willing to admit and every mouthful was like drinking acid, destroying him from the inside out—but this one was the worst. This wasn’t just failure; failure had been driving his shield through Tony’s reactor, violence burning through his blood so hotly that he would have murdered the man if he had the chance; failure was ripping the team in two, going on the run, tearing the star from his chest as he deconstructed all he knew and the figure this nation had turned him into. 

This was not failure. 

It was devastation and the world was paying for it. _He_ was paying for it.

Bucky… Bucky was gone and he wasn’t coming back this time. The only goodbye they got was _one single fucking moment_ where the man he tore the world apart for called out his name for help—help that Steve, this time, could not give. 

How many times was he going to lose the one thing in this world that he wanted more than anything else? 

How many times could he _survive_ it?

They had left Wakanda and returned to New York and the adrenaline was gone and Steve was desperately grasping for something, anything to keep him afloat. The world was drowning and he couldn’t breathe.

“You should get some sleep.”

The voice startled him and he turned to look at the woman beside him. His eyes swept over her quickly and saw the same haunted thing in her that dwelled within him. “You first.”

Natasha stared straight ahead, pressing her lips together and saying nothing. Her eyes were remote and drifting further by the second. Steve knew that look—it was the same kind Buck would get when he slipped back into his programming. It had been a long time since he had seen that look on _her_ face.

“Are you sure this place is secure?” Steve asked, prodding her gently back to the present as he nodded to the dark, hollow home they stood in.

She just looked at him.

“There is only one other person that knows about this place besides me.”

Steve didn’t have to ask who she was speaking of. He glanced down to his feet and then back up to the redhead, voice quiet and cautious, and in reality, he didn’t really want to know the answer. He asked anyway. “Still no word from him?”

Natasha shook her head, jaw clenching. “Either he’s gone off the grid or…”

Slowly, Steve’s eyes slid shut, his heart twisting sharply in his chest, knotting everything inside of him _that_ much tighter. Natasha was all but a silent ghost beside him and he wondered if the day was coming that this powerful woman would finally break. If she did, Clint would be the final straw that did it. The two were tied together by the soul, intertwined and incomplete without the other, bound by blood and secrets too heavy to carry alone.

“Thor should be back soon,” Natasha murmured softly and Steve ran a heavy hand over his face as he nodded.

“Good.”

Shuffling footsteps caught both of their attention, the sound like someone who was wearing house slippers that didn’t fit quite right and had to be scraped across the floor so that they wouldn’t fall off. Steve and Natasha turned and watched Bruce slowly enter. He was wiping his hands on a red dishtowel, his expression one of someone lost at sea, in desperate search of a lighthouse through the mist. He twisted, gesturing back at the warm light pouring in from the kitchen with his thumb, his tone very soft.

“We found some food. It should be ready in about ten minutes.”

Steve dipped his head, “Thank you, Bruce.” Bruce nodded and turned, wandering back to the kitchen where a questionable sort of smell was emanating. Slanting a look at Natasha, Steve sighed, “I’ll go eat their cooking if you will.”

That got a smile, nothing more than a small upturn of the lips, out of the redhead.

“Brave man.”

* * *

There was a lot of information Thor gave her, though she could tell he was still holding back. He had carried her to her room as he spoke, serious about his demand that she stay off of her feet as much as possible. She quietly told him where different items were that she might need and when he brought them to her, she packed them in her green duffle. All the while he filled her in on how fucked up the world had become. The whole time she was listening but unable to process, unable to really understand what it all meant. What happened to Asgard, Hela, Myew Myew, Thanos, Loki’s death, the infinity stones, the battle in Wakanda… all of it nearly unbelievable though Darcy had seen firsthand the evidence of whatever Thanos’ intended plan had been. 

It still refused to register in her mind that they actually… lost.

That had never even been a consideration or possibility in her mind throughout all of these years, in spite of the odds that had been stacked against them. The good guys _always_ won, they always came out victorious. 

They were the goddamn _Avengers_. Earth’s Mightiest Heroes and all that shit.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“I know,” Thor muttered from beside her and Darcy jerked a little, not realizing she had spoken her thought aloud. He was sitting next to her on the bed, his heavy weight sinking the mattress in a way that it caused her to fall naturally against his side. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands open and drooping to the floor. “Maybe we’ll be able to find a way to fix all of this. Make something good come out of it.”

Darcy said nothing, had no idea what to say, so she simply lay her head against his shoulder for comfort and stared ahead numbly. Exhaustion was creeping up on her, she could feel it rising up her legs, like dark ink bleeding onto paper. 

_God, she missed Jane._

Her eyes screwed shut; a single hot tear slipped out between her wet, clumped eyelashes, it slid down her nose and dropped on Thor’s arm, making a dark circle on the sleeve of his shirt. No more tears came after, and thank god for that. The skin around her eyes and nostrils was red and sore—she had been emptied out, her insides scrubbed clean leaving her with a hollow sort of feeling.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat there in silence, lost in their own individual worlds and yet together. It must have been some time because she jolted awake with a gasp, snapping herself away from Thor the moment she felt a large, warm hand on her knee. 

“Easy, Darcy,” Thor rumbled, hands lifted in the air in a surrender type of manner as he took in the wildness in her eyes. “It is just me.”

“S’rry,” Darcy mumbled blearily and rubbed at her eyes. 

“No matter,” Thor assured her. He glanced at the room, sweeping over it, all of the little knick-knacks, before turning to her, decisively. “We should leave. This…” Thor started and then stopped. “It does neither of us any good to linger here much longer and the others are awaiting our arrival. We should not worry them.”

“Okay,” Darcy whispered. She sucked in a deep, centering breath and nodded more to herself than anything. “Okay.” Feeling steadier than she had in a while, her eyes flicked up. “How are we going to do this?”

Thor gave her an assessing look.

“I do not think you will enjoy it,” he warned gravely.

“Great.”

* * *

Back in London, before the Dark Elves attacked, when Thor had swept his way onto the scene in the pouring rain looking like Fabio on the cover of a romance novel with his flowing locks and ridiculous muscles and whisked Jane away with his super space travel, Darcy had been rightfully jealous. Now? Now all Darcy wanted was for her stomach to stop rolling.

Thor was right. She didn’t just not like it—she _hated_ it. 

Forget whatever romanticized idea she had of Thor’s version of travel, here was the reality: it was like jumping inside of a kaleidoscope that was then handed to a sugared-up four year old child to shake as hard as they possibly could. Neon lights and colors (some that Darcy had never even _seen_ before) blinded her. The insane speed they traveled at pulled at her with a strength that could easily tear a limb off, trying to fling her out of Thor’s arms. He kept a solid hold on her and her duffel bag he had slung around his shoulders, glancing down every now and then, a small, worried frown on his lips that grew the longer it all went on.

That might have been because she was screaming bloody murder loud enough to burst an eardrum.

And then suddenly, it all came to a halt, like a skydiver whose parachute didn’t work—the ground rushed up to meet them in a jolting sort of end. They landed on solid ground and Darcy’s screaming stuttered when her stomach turned itself inside out. She shoved Thor away at the last moment, stumbling, and he must have seen the clammy sweat on her skin, the green tone to her face because he let her go without hesitation.

Darcy bent at the waist, curling in on herself, and promptly puked all over the floor.

“Is she alright?” A voice Darcy didn’t recognize asked and she couldn’t even turn to look and see who it was because she was heaving once more, her stomach screaming at her to never travel with Thor _ever_ again.

“Eh, she will be,” Thor answered, but sounded unsure. She felt him approach cautiously. “Breathe, Darcy,” he told her, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. “It will pass soon enough.”

Her eyes were closed and she was still bent over at the waist, arms encircling her stomach, but she lifted a shaky arm and gave Thor a thumbs up. Following his instructions, she sucked in a deep breath through her nose and slowly exhaled through her mouth. She did that a few more times as the ground beneath her feet became stable and steady and her body readjusted to the earth. 

“This is not the Jane that I remember,” said a woman in a quiet tone.

“No… Jane is—” Thor stopped suddenly. “This is Darcy Lewis.”

Gradually Darcy’s stomach released the tight-fisted grip it had shrunk into and she felt an almost instant relief. She let out something between and sigh and a groan. 

“We are _not_ doing that again.” Darcy grimaced and spit the taste of puke out of her mouth before swiping the sleeve of her shirt over her lips and straightening.

Thor was hovering, guiltily she might add (as he should be), and just beyond him, to her horror, stood what was left of the Avengers. All of them wore varying expressions of concern, or in Captain America’s perfect bearded case—disgust. 

_Fantastic_.

Darcy’s face drained completely of color and she thought she might be sick again. She was mortified and yet, she thought with no small amount of bitterness, this was an oddly fitting pattern of her life. “I’ll clean up this mess,” she mumbled out the promise. “Sorry, everyone for the explosion.” 

“I am Groot?”

The voice came from behind her and Darcy twisted around, looking over her shoulder at the newcomer. 

“That is a tree,” Darcy declared stupidly, blinking slowly at it. The sentient tree blinked back with big, soft, brown eyes. She turned to Thor, her brows pulled tight together, plump lips dropped open, “Thor? That is a tree.”

The creature was a little shorter than her with long, slim limbs made entirely of twisted brown vines. There were sap green branches intertwined throughout forming a trunk-like body with two eyes, a flat non-nose, and a mouth. 

“I am Groot,” the tree declared with enthusiasm, tilting its head at her and Darcy eyed it before turning back to the God of Thunder. 

He was nodding, a fond look encompassing his face. “Yes, I forgot to tell you about him.”

The tree made a slow, gasping sort of noise and his mouth dropped open. “I am Groot,” it squawked out, highly offended.

“My apologies,” Thor addressed it and then turned to Darcy with a smile, “This is my friend, Tree.”

“I think his name is Groot,” Dr. Banner intoned where he stood with the others, confusion coloring his voice.

Darcy glanced over and noticed that at some point during the conversation Dr. Banner had gone to get cleaning supplies. He carried them over and Darcy held her hands out to take it from him, frowning when he only gave her half of the supplies and got on his knees to help mop up the grossness. 

“I’m _so_ sorry.”

Dr. Banner offered her a soft smile, “It’s okay. I’ve cleaned up worse.”

“I don’t want to know, do I?” Darcy asked, her lips curving upwards slightly. He met her eyes and shook his head.

“No, you don’t.”

Grimacing, Darcy made quick work of the mess she made, dumping the dirty rags in the bucket Dr. Banner had brought with him while Thor spoke in hushed tones with Captain America and the Black Widow. Part of her could not believe that she was in a room with some of the most powerful people in the entire world—plus a talking tree—and here she was cleaning up vomit.

She pointed to the bucket when they were done, “I can go wash those.”

“I’ve got it,” Dr. Banner shook his head. Darcy wanted to argue, would have argued, if it weren’t for the fact that her head had started to pound behind her eyes—the tell-tale sign of a massive oncoming headache. Squinting, she nodded and let out a pained sigh.

“Thank you,” Darcy told the good doctor and then rose to her feet, ignoring the stinging pain in the soles of her feet. “Um, sorry to break up the party here,” she interrupted whatever Thor was going to say to Captain America, wincing as she spoke, “but could I go lie down somewhere?”

They stared at her for a brief moment and then Thor stepped forward only to be stopped the woman Darcy knew instantly to be the Black fucking Widow. She put a hand to his chest.

“I’ll take you,” she said looking directly at Darcy and then turned to Thor, lifting her both her brows meaningfully. “ _You_ need to eat. There’s food in the kitchen.” When Thor hesitated, the Black Widow gave him a kind look. “She’ll be fine, Thor. Go eat.”

The redhead then turned to Darcy, her eyes flickering over her, and Darcy straightened under the other woman’s gaze. Whatever emotion had been there flitted away too fast for Darcy to see what it was. She nodded her head in a cool manner.

“Follow me.”

* * *

Darcy followed the Black Widow in silence, feeling oddly shy. The redhead was shorter than Darcy had expected, only slightly taller than Jane and Jane was barely five foot. Everything about her was smaller, though Darcy wasn’t fooled—the woman had a reputation for being one of the world’s most deadly assassins. Size had nothing to do with it. Perhaps it was even one of the benefits.

The home they were in was three stories tall and narrow and showed no signs of having had any lifeforms living there in at least a year. The Black Widow led her down a darkened hall passing by a few other rooms, all with their doors shut. When they reached the end she turned to the door on the left and opened it, flicking on the light. The space was small, simple, beige walls with a tiny window that led to a rusty looking fire escape (Darcy noted the way the window was bolted shut) and a twin sized bed in the corner.

She felt the eyes of the other woman on her, assessing her, as she examined the room. Darcy made sure to nod approvingly.

“I’m sorry you lost your friend,” the Black Widow said, her voice quiet and not unkind. Darcy went still for a second, like someone had hit pause on her body and she was incapable of moving. After a breath, she turned to the other woman, her chest stinging, and all she could do was nod. The redhead crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back against the door. She jutted her chin at Darcy’s feet next, eyes flashing down to them and back up, “How badly are you injured?”

“How did you—?” Darcy glanced down to her feet. She wore the sneakers Thor had insisted on and not a single bandage was showing. She didn’t think she had been limping. She lifted her gaze and the woman simply stood there, waiting patiently. Finally Darcy shrugged. “Not bad at all. Just messed my feet up a bit, when—when everything happened. Thor patched me up but—”

Thunder broke in the sky outside and Darcy’s eyes drifted to the window with a small frown, her voice sounding very far away. “I think he overreacted.”

“You must mean a lot to him.” 

Darcy’s head snapped back to the woman at the door. Something about that statement felt weighty and Darcy chose her words very carefully, her words coming out slow.

“It goes both ways.”

The other woman eyed her and it wasn’t an entirely comfortable thing, mostly because everything about the Black Widow was unreadable, muted, like something in her had been shut down and all of her behavior and words and expressions were trapped behind and impenetrable filter. Darcy couldn’t imagine living like that, so utterly caged in. 

“We have medical supplies, if you need it.”

“Thanks,” Darcy murmured, caught off guard. She swallowed, squinting. “If you have any Ibuprofen, I’d take two. My head is killing me.”

The Black Widow nodded. “I’ll have Thor bring some up with your bag.”

Darcy thanked her again and with that, the redhead turned to leave, but she paused right before exiting through the door and turned back. Staring at Darcy with fathomless eyes that suddenly seemed so very sad, she said simply, “I’m Natasha.”

A beat of silence.

Darcy felt like an idiot as she stood there, surprised yet again. Of course this woman had a name; all of the Avengers did because they were _people_ (the tree excluded) not just superheroes. They had names and emotions and likes and dislikes and were probably hurting more than Darcy could even possibly imagine. 

Swallowing thickly, she stepped forward, holding out her hand for Natasha to shake. “I’m Darcy.” 

Natasha had a strong grip and the shake was quick but something about it felt significant in a way that Darcy couldn’t quite put her finger on. Natasha gave Darcy a searching kind of look, the shutters behind her eyes firmly in place. “Rest.”

* * *

The moment they were sure both women were out of hearing range, Bruce removed his glasses and sighed tiredly. The others watched him, waiting, and he made a helpless sort of gesture.

“Thor,” he started, his voice very careful, “I don’t know if bringing a civilian here is the best idea.”

Outside, the dwindling evening light completely disappeared, like someone had flipped off switch. Thunder rolled over their heads and Thor’s eyes took on an unnatural sort of light. He took a single step towards Bruce, voice dropping low like a stormy sea—ancient and cold. “Darcy is the only living member of my family in all of the universe and I will not lose her while I can help it. She stays with me.”

For a long moment, no one spoke, not a single person even moved, and then—

“Understood, Thor.”

Thor turned to look at the Captain. The blond soldier was staring back at the god, his eyes heavy and dimmed, but he gave a firm nod of his approval. Something in Thor settled and the walls expanded as though the whole room was exhaling with him. “Thank you, Steven.”

“I didn’t mean she wasn’t welcome, Thor,” Bruce told him sheepishly, shifting uneasily on his feet. “Just that it might not be the safest place for her. _I_ might not be the safest for her. Hulk hasn’t exactly been predictable lately.”

“I would not have brought her here if I did not trust every one of you with her life and my own. That includes you, Bruce,” Thor told him with conviction.

“I am Groot.”

Thor glanced over and then down to where Tree stood, watching them with his big eyes, his mouth set in a determined line. “Yes, you as well, Tree.”

“You can understand him?”

“The language was taught on Asgard when I was just a boy.”

“Is his name really Tree?”

“ _I am Groot!_ ”

* * *

She slept through the night and a good portion of the following day. It seemed that when her body finally shut down, it did not want to start back up again. Everything in her had come to the firm conclusion that it was best to just stay in bed, under the blankets, where she could pretend that her world hadn’t irrevocably changed.

Thor checked in on her periodically, his face lined with worry. Sometimes he came with water or crackers (he specifically let her know those were from Natasha), another time it was to change the bandages on her feet and clean her wounds once again. During these times Darcy would open her eyes with a groan, her nose stuffed up from all of the crying the day before, her head pounding, mouth completely dry. She would give one word responses to any questions and then roll back over and pull the comforter over her head and let her eyes slide shut.

She did not dream.

* * *

When she finally woke up (jerked out of sleep with a jolt and a raspy gasp) her lips were chapped and her feet were icy, having escaped out from the warmth of the blanket she was curled under. Darcy opened bleary eyes and sat up slowly, pausing briefly when her head started to spin.

God she hoped she wasn’t getting sick.

Darcy grunted and tossed back the comforter and rose to her feet. Sometimes during her sleep-a-thon Thor had brought in her bag and she eyed it as it lay against the opposite wall. Her steps were quick as she walked over, unzipping it. Darcy snagged a change of clothes and fresh underwear. She stripped quickly, wishing that she knew where the bathroom was so she could shower. She made do with slabbing on extra deodorant and tying her thick hair in a messy bun on top of her head.

After dressing, she slipped on the dumb sneakers she hated and opened the door, moving down the hallway. It was eerily quiet and Darcy tried to retrace the steps she and Natasha had taken to get to her room in the first place so she could find her way to the main living room. Finding the stairs leading down wasn’t as difficult as she had feared, Darcy took them, mindful now of the way the cuts in her feet pinched and stabbed when she took a more forceful step.

The living room she and Thor had landed in was empty, the light from the windows telling her that it was later in the afternoon. She must have slept close to twenty-four hours. No wonder Thor was hovering so much.

Darcy made her way to the kitchen, finding it much like the living room—empty and silent. Her stomach growled and she didn’t want to wait for someone to come find her. In search of sustenance, Darcy opened the fridge. The crackers Natasha had sent to her wasn’t enough to curb her hunger and sadly the fridge wasn’t exactly full of promising options. Neither was the pantry. Most of it was of the non-perishable canned meat and cracker variety where Darcy was much more of a fresh produce type of person.

“We have got to get some food in this place,” Darcy muttered, picking up a can of Vienna sausages, trying not to gag.

“Can you cook?”

She dropped the can, yelping, and whipped around to face the intruder, eyes perfect circles. The can clattered to the floor and Dr. Banner bent to pick it up, holding it out to her with a small grin.

“Sorry,” he said.

When her heart started beating again, Darcy took the can and returned it to the pantry. “I’m mediocre,” she told him, “You?”

“Only if I have a recipe in front of me.”

Darcy hummed, looking off to the side. “Maybe we can go to the… god. Are stores even open?”

“Yes,” Dr. Banner leaned back against the counter, giving her more than enough space to leave if she wanted and something about that struck her as odd. “But with restrictions.”

“Are you all going to make a supply run soon?”

“Tomorrow. We have a list, if you’d like to add something to it?”

Darcy nodded and Dr. Banner opened a drawer pulling out a flowered to-do notepad that belonged more in the kitchen of a middle-aged woman than it did a secret hideout for the Avengers. “Thank you,” she said as she took it from him along with a pen. Clicking the top of the pen, she glanced up. “Where is everyone, by the way? It's awful quiet.”

Dr. Banner was silent for a moment, brows pinched together as he thought. Finally, he sort of shrugged. “We’re all dealing with this in our own way. It's been quiet since we got here. Thor and Steve are down in the basement where the gym is.”

The unspoken ‘beating the crap out of things to get out their frustration’ lingered in the air and Darcy nodded. 

“And Natasha?”

“She likes her privacy,” was all that Dr. Banner said.

Darcy stared at him for a moment and then nodded. “I can appreciate that. Is… is the tree guy still around or did I hallucinate that yesterday?”

Dr. Banner chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “No, you didn’t hallucinate. Groot is watching Steve and Thor. He likes to try to trip them or move things when they aren’t looking. It’s a game for him and it keeps them from getting too serious.”

“Ah,” Darcy nodded like she understood what exactly Dr. Banner meant. Then a thought struck her, “This might be a weird question, but the window in my room is bolted shut and I just… I need to sit outside for a bit,” she looked at Dr. Banner, eyes quietly pleading, “Is there a place I can go?”

Dr. Banner stared back and the look in his eyes was one of understanding. 

“The roof is a good spot if you need space. I’ll take you.”

* * *

Darcy talked to the stars with her eyes, telling them all of the things that she could not bring herself to say aloud. Her knees were hugged in to her chest and she kept her gaze fixed on the twinkling lights peeking through the clouds, high up there in the inky darkness just beyond her reach.

She had been up on the roof since Bruce (he insisted she call him that) showed her the way, reminding her to deadbolt the door so it wouldn’t close and lock her up here. Bruce had promised to make sure Thor gave her some privacy as she breathed the fresh air. Grateful, Darcy had watched the sun fall behind the skyscrapers in the distance, outlining them in brilliant streaks of orange and pink. She watched until the indigo blue blanket of the night swept over the sky, bringing with it a few glittering stars.

It was nothing like the view she and Jane had in New Mexico or any of the other remote locations they traveled to. But the few stars she could see were hope in the midst of a deep darkness—despite what surrounded them, they shined.

It was the closest she could get to feeling like she was with Jane.

Darcy kept her eyes lifted, the cool night air wafting over her in waves causing goosebumps to rise on her skin. She let her mind wander aimlessly, listening to the unnatural quiet of the city. Her first day with the Avengers was nothing like she had once imagined. For starters, she hardly even saw any of them. Of course, she might have been sleeping for a good portion of the time, but it just… everything was so hushed in that home. Like they were afraid if they made any noise that it would wake a beast. 

In reality, the whole situation made her ache for her friend, the laughter and the familiarity. Sniffing, Darcy wet her lips, feeling the wind move strands of loose hair from her bun across her face.

“Jane, if you’re out there, I—”

_THUMP._

Her words clogged in her throat, choking the air from her lungs, when a body landed on the roof.

The shadows hid the dark figure well, but even in the minimum lighting she could see the smear of blood on the roof as the figure stood. Darcy scrambled to her feet, heart pounding through her chest, fear instantly racing through her veins. She backed up, tripping over her feet as the figure rushed towards her. Darcy opened her mouth, sucking in a heavy lungful of air to scream but a hot, wet hand slammed over her mouth before she could get a single noise out.

Darcy fought and kicked and was screaming anyway, even if the sound was muffled by the stranger. One of their hands wrapped around the back of her head, tearing out some of her hair, pressing her mouth _hard_ to the other hand covering it. She clawed at the arms, keenly aware of the hot feeling of blood now coating her face and knowing that it was not her own blood.

“ _Shh!_ _For the love of god, woman, shut up!_ ” They shook her once to drive home the point, letting out the strangled whisper. “I’m one of the good guys.”

She was breathing harshly through her nose, nails digging into his arms, her eyes wide as saucers, as she heard his words and took in the stranger’s appearance for the first time. He was staring at her, squinting in obvious pain, and leaning on her more and more by the second until she was practically half way holding him upright. 

She knew his face; she knew _him_.

“Ah, fuck,” Clint Barton gasped out finally, releasing his hold on her, his hand going to his blood soaked middle. “Get me inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else loved Dad!Thor? Not gonna lie… Currently I am living for Thor and Darcy’s friendship and am thoroughly indulging in their love. 
> 
> *IMPORTANT NOTE* I have changed a few of those who were snapped and those who were not. In place of Rocket, we now have Groot. Rhodey was also snapped and for the sake of plot, the Black Order is still present and alive. Just a general FYI.
> 
> Thank you to every single person who had read this, given kudos, bookmarked, subscribed, commented, or sent me messages on [Tumblr!](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) I am glad to be on this journey with you! Now, where the hell are we going?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND WE’RE BACK. Let’s stir some shit up.

_\+ Puente Antiguo, 2011 +_

“You know a good bar around here?”

The man was leaning against the doorframe to Jane’s lab, sunglasses on, wearing a black jacket, his booted foot propped up against the wall behind him. He was tan with short, dirty blond hair and a lean build. Darcy, Jane, and Erik had just returned from watching Thor depart this world to return to Asgard and were a little overwhelmed to say the least. They were exhausted and fairly certain that the town was planning to gather their pitchforks and torches and chase them from the premises any moment.

Jane glanced at the man in a rapid assessment and then through the door of her lab to the flurry of SHIELD agents inside nosing around her business. Her eyes narrowed into thin, angry slits. She pointed a warning finger in his direction, lips curled in disgust.

“We offer no quarter for our enemies.”

Everything about Jane became prickly, like a cactus, and she marched inside to yell at the agents some more. Darcy watched her go, amused, and Erik cleared his throat.

“I should go make sure she doesn’t hurt someone,” he murmured and hurried inside calling after Jane. 

The man at the door turned his cool expression Darcy’s way and lifted a single brow. “How about you? Please tell me there’s a bar.”

“Eh,” Darcy made a ‘so-so’ gesture with her hand, “it depends on what you want to drink and why.”

“Well, I just witnessed a god and alien fire fight destroy half of a small town and I’m thinking about retiring.”

Darcy grinned, big and toothy. “You want to go to Blackjack’s then. It’s on the corner of—”

The top half of Jane suddenly popped out of the door, her face red and puckered in irritation, reminding Darcy of a very angry little porcupine. She wielded a large frying pan, pointing it threateningly at the man in the sunglasses.

“ _NO QUARTER!_ ”

The man didn’t budge, but a corner of his mouth very slowly lifted in amusement. 

“She’ll use it,” Darcy warned as the two continued in a vicious stare-down.

Finally, the man raised his hands in surrender. Darcy could see the thick callouses from where she stood. “I didn’t take your stuff, lady. That’s not part of my job.”

Jane glared and shook the frying pan at him once, like a judge banging their gavel. “Guilty… by… _association_.”

Her voice was a hiss by the end of her declaration and Jane slowly melted back into her lab to go harass the other agents. Darcy bit her lip, realizing that Erik might need some help this round. She rose on her tippy toes, peering inside with a wince.

“So, Blackjack’s?”

The voice pulled Darcy’s attention back to the mystery man and she nodded absently. “Good tequila. Southeast corner of Page and Comanche, you can’t miss it, there’s an obnoxious black horse statue on the roof.”

“Got it,” the man gave her a lopsided smile, “Thanks…?”

She stared for a moment, and then made her decision, “Darcy, sworn enemy of SHIELD, defender of Jane, protector of breakfast foods.”

The man grinned like he found her particularly amusing (on the same level as someone did with their pet gerbil) and gave her a mock salute. “Clint.”

“Just Clint?”

He nodded easily, “Just Clint.”

“How boring.”

“Says the girl living in the middle of nowhere,” Clint sassed back and Darcy rolled her eyes.

“We just had a Norse god drop down to say hello,” she folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head, her voice deadpan. “I don’t think that’s boring.” Then she tapped her freshly French manicured finger against her pursed lips as though she was thinking hard. “In fact, I think that’s why you needed to get your drink.”

Clint snorted lightly. “Thanks for the reminder.”

He pushed off the wall with his shoulders and began walking out to the dark, shiny sedan that absolutely did not belong in this dusty streets of Puente Antiguo. Darcy watched him go, squinting in the bright sunlight.

“Aren’t you,” she called out and he glanced at her over his shoulder expectantly. Darcy lifted her arms in a shrug, “I don’t know, working like the other minions?”

“I’m not a minion.” Clint shouted back over the distance, straight teeth flashing white against his tanned face. 

Darcy rolled her eyes and flapped her hand at him dismissively as he opened up the car and climbed in. She waited until he closed the door and started the car before turning and going inside to assist Erik in calming the chaos. Funnily enough, it was right about the time that Jane screeched her name.

* * *

_\+ Present +_

“Get me inside, oh fucking hell, get me inside,” Clint gasped out through gritted teeth.

Darcy moved to Clint’s side, lifting his arm and draping it around her shoulders before taking hold of his waist and pushing up with her legs as his weight settled more fully on her.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” she swore violently when her knees nearly buckled. Clint was nowhere near the size of Thor or even Captain fucking America but he was deceptively heavy and she had never been into the whole weight lifting gym bunny life. He leaned on her and she tried, she _really_ tried to be the crutch that he required, but it took only a few halting half-steps before she knew it would be impossible. Darcy grunted and stopped, gritting her teeth. 

“Clint,” she whispered harshly, “I need you to fucking walk. I can’t carry you.”

“I _am_ goddamnit,” the archer bristled and she sighed in relief when he listened and took a tiny bit more weight on his own two feet.

Darcy readjusted her grip on his waist and tried moving forward again. Clint shuffled his feet heavily along and she guided them to the heavy door that led back into the safe house, the whole way she was highly aware of her side growing warm and slick as his hot blood seeped into her shirt.

Reaching the door, Darcy grabbed for the handle, wrenching it open with a rusty creak that screeched in the otherwise silent night like the shriek of an owl. The sound had Clint jerking in her arms, his head whipping behind him, eyes alert. It made Darcy look, too, but she saw nothing.

There was no boogieman jumping out to grab them, the night was still and silent—like a funeral home. 

They hurried inside and she propped him against the wall before turning a muscling the door shut. Sliding the lock in place, Darcy moved back to him, taking his arm over her shoulder once more, gripping his forearm tightly, she bared her teeth as they began the painful walk down the steps. 

“Come on,” she told him, “almost there.”

An absent sort of chuckle bubbled out of Clint’s mouth, the sound odd to Darcy’s ears, “You’re doing great.”

“Shut up.”

She was panting now and she turned to look at the man she was half carrying, his tanned skin pale and coated in a sheen of sweat. Blond eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks when he winced after a particularly heavy step. By the time they were down to the level where the rooms were Darcy’s legs were shaking, her muscles exhausted from the strain. They were deep enough in the safe house now that Darcy decided to fuck it and call for help. 

“Thor!” She cried out, emptying her lungs of breath. “Natasha! Someone, anyone—help!”

Clint was silent above her but she could hear his ragged breathing with every inhale. His head was drooping now and he was getting heavier by the second. 

“Please don’t pass out,” Darcy begged him, then shouted hoarsely, “ _THOR!_ ”

Thundering ( _ha_ ) footsteps raced up the stairs and Darcy’s head snapped up, expecting to see Thor coming to her rescue, but instead it was Captain America appearing at the end of the hallway, his face a dark cloud of fury. He took one look at the two of them, icy blue eyes registering that there was no immediate threat, and then rushed their way easily maneuvering Clint from her shoulders, supporting him almost completely without batting an eye. 

The archer groaned and Steve murmured something too quiet for Darcy to hear, and then—

“Are you injured?”

The Captain (Steve, she guessed she should call him) asked brusquely, his stare almost uncomfortable in its intensity. Darcy followed his gaze down to the sticky wet mess of her shirt and shook her head, saying softly, “It’s not mine.”

Steve nodded and moved Clint to the room directly across from Darcy’s, all but kicking the door open. It was identical to the one she stayed in and Steve carefully helped the man onto the bed.

“Clint?!” Natasha appeared in a flash of movement at the door. She would have skidded past it if her hand had not latched onto the doorframe stopping her trajectory. Her mouth fell open in shock, face lined with worry, and Darcy moved out of her way as the woman who had been all but emotionless yesterday dashed inside the small room.

“Hey Nat,” Clint moaned out softly. 

Steve produced a wicked looking knife out of thin air and cut away at Clint’s clothing with swift, steady hands. Darcy turned her face away when they pulled back the fabric revealing the archer’s injury. Someone in the room hissed. She had never done well with serious injuries and was honestly lucky to be standing upright at the moment.

“What happened?” Natasha knelt at the man’s side, her small hands wrapped around one of his, squeezing it tightly.

Clint hiccupped in pain and opened his mouth—

“What—?” Thor stood in the doorway, wide chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. He swept into the room, making the space shrink even more.

“They’re gone,” Clint was saying, his eyes locked on Natasha’s in a desperate, wild way. He dragged in another breath and it caught in his throat, “They’re _gone_ ,” he said again, choking on it, and Natasha inhaled sharply, like someone had slapped her. Clint shivered. “ _The kids_ , Nat. The kids and Laura, all of them. They just disappeared. My family is gone—I thought—I thought you all were dead.”

For a long moment the only sound in that small room was Clint’s gasping breaths and then Darcy watched as Natasha leaned forward and cupped Clint’s face with a gentle hand. She pressed her forehead to his and her eyes slowly slid shut; she breathed in. The Black Widow did not say a single word and yet Clint visibly calmed, breathing with her, taking the strength she offered.

After a moment she pulled back, her voice low, “Now, what happened?”

“Bruce on his way?” Steve asked quietly over Natasha’s head, his eyes on Thor as the god stood guard above them all.

“Aye, he is getting supplies,” Thor told him and stepped forward, “That wound needs pressure.”

Steve quickly moved out of the way. The god snagged an extra blanket from the closet and bundled it up, pressing it into Clint’s wound making the archer grunt in pain. 

“I am sorry, my friend, but you’ve lost too much blood,” Thor told him. “We need to stop the flow.”

“I’m a universal donor,” Darcy spoke up from her corner of the room. All the occupants, save Clint, turned to look at her as though they had forgotten or never even realized she was there. When they said nothing but instead stared at her with a strange mix of expressions, like something was wrong with her. Darcy frowned, shifting on her feet uneasily. One arm wrapped around her middle, her voice shrunk significantly as she added, “In case he needs blood, I can give it. I might pass out, but I can do it.”

Still, no one responded, but Thor’s gaze flicked up to Darcy’s left, “Steven,” he began, his voice sounding very strange, “would you…?”

Thor gestured to Darcy’s face and she frowned deeply. “What?”

There was a hand on her elbow, she turned to see Steve Rogers looking down at her, dark brows furrowed deeply. “Come on,” he said, gently tugging on her arm, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

Darcy absently let herself be led from the room, her feet slow and confused from the whole situation; she could hear Clint murmuring to both Thor and Natasha. They passed by Bruce in the hallway whose steps stuttered, face blinking in shock when he caught sight of Darcy but Steve just held up a hand and made some kind of gesture she couldn’t see. Bruce nodded and swiftly went to the room where Clint and the others were.

Steve opened a door and flicked on the yellowed light illuminating a small bathroom with a shower. He grabbed a washcloth from a mostly empty wooden shelf and turned on the faucet, waiting for the water to warm slightly. Darcy took the moment to glance in the mirror and froze.

There was a perfect handprint of blood across the entire lower half of her face. Clint’s blood.

“I look like I belong in a horror film,” Darcy muttered.

Steve tested the water with his hand and then stuck the wash cloth under it. He glanced at her over his shoulder and for the life of her, she couldn’t read the look on his face. The cloud of fury from before had cleared but what was left in its place she could not name. That wasn’t entirely surprising though. She thought back to the few moments she had seen him since arriving and it all was the same. Everything about the man was guarded. It was in the way he held himself, the way he moved, even the way he looked at her now. Oddly enough, out of all of the Avengers, the Captain seemed to be the most aloof. More so than even Natasha.

Privately, she thought the whole attitude went very well with his new style. The long hair and the bearded lumberjack look was, in Jane’s words, a _good look_. A very good look. Not that she was ever going to tell him that, especially when he merely handed the dripping wet wash cloth to her with a simple, “Here.”

Darcy took it slowly and moved to the sink. He sidestepped, his massive body somehow giving her room as she bent at the waist and began scrubbing the blood from her face. Water splattered into the sterling white sink in varying shades of pink. She had to rinse the cloth a few times before starting the process over.

“You good?” Steve asked, his serious gaze locked on her reflection in the mirror. 

Water dripped from her skin as she soaked the rag once more. She nodded, “Yeah, I can finish here. Thanks.”

Steve eyed her a moment and she could see by the set in his body that he wanted nothing more than to be back in that other room with his wounded teammate, not stuck here with the useless civilian.

She could not blame him.

“Go,” Darcy encouraged and his glacier eyes flashed to hers in the mirror and god he was handsome. She shoved that thought away quickly because now was _not_ the time, “I’ll need to change clothes anyway.”

“Thank you,” Steve said suddenly and Darcy cocked her head, not understanding. The Captain cleared his throat, “For your offer. We’ll let you know if Clint needs blood.”

“Oh! Yeah—sure, okay,” she nodded jerkily.

With that, Steve turned and left without another word.

Sighing, Darcy finished washing the last traces of Clint’s handprint of doom from her face, her skin irritated from the scouring it had just experienced. Once satisfied that she looked human again, she made her way to her room to grab a fresh change of clothes. Her eyes drifted into the room where all of the Avengers, Groot included, had somehow squeezed into. Voice drifted out into the hallway, becoming clearer as she approached.

“—decided to try and pick some of them off on my own but—” Clint’s voice cut off, grunting, “it was an ambush.”

“What did they look like?”

“Some goth chick with a spear and a pointy faced vampire from hell… What, you know them?”

“We’ve met before,” Darcy heard Natasha’s voice murmur.

“They have scouts throughout—fuck Thor, _that goddamn hurts_.”

“We have to sterilize it before infection sets in,” Thor’s deep voice rumbled, sounding distracted. Darcy caught a glimpse of him squinting as he worked on the large gash in Clint’s side with Bruce. “I do not know this weapon and the effects it may have on the human body, if any. I would rather be thorough.”

“The pain meds should kick in soon, Clint,” Bruce soothed.

“Fucking hope so. Son of a bitch.”

“I am Groot…”

“I am aware that he is using inappropriate language,” Thor told the tree without turning his head to look at him. “You are not to copy his behavior.”

“I am _Groot_ ,” came the muttered reply laced with attitude and Darcy almost smiled, picturing the ridiculous eye roll Groot was most likely giving Thor. She was starting to appreciate the sentient tree.

Steve stepped forward and Darcy could only see the barest outline of his considerable frame. “You said something about scouts?”

“They have them set up throughout the city. I don’t know how they made me but when they did it was like I was a goddamn fox and they were the hounds.”

“How did you lose them?” Natasha asked.

There was a beat of silence.

“Same as we did in Budapest.”

“ _Clint_.”

“Aw, Nat, don’t give me that look—I’m bleeding.”

Darcy realized she had been standing stupidly in the middle of the hallway eavesdropping and clutching her clean clothes and toiletries while still mostly covered in blood. She shook herself and turned, walking back to the bathroom ignoring sharp prickles of pain in the cuts on her bandaged feet. Her walk with Clint must have torn open some of the scabbing. Once she reached the bathroom, she stripped quickly, undoing the bandages on her feet and tossing her blood stained clothes on the floor of the shower figuring she would try to rinse them at the same time she cleansed her skin.

She stood under the piping hot water for a long time, letting it soak into her muscles and wrap around her bones. Steam clouded the air and she breathed it deep into her lungs. Washing her hair was a quick ordeal and she wrung out her clothes after slathering her hair in her favorite lavender scented conditioner repeating the process until the water was no longer tinged with blood (well, mostly; her toe was leaking a bit but not too bad). Her clothes dropped to the shower floor with a wet slap and she sighed as she stuck her head back under the stream of water, rinsing some of the excess conditioner. Raking her fingers through her hair, Darcy turned and shut off the shower. 

Feeling fresh, she slid back the shower curtain only to realize that she had forgotten to check and see if there was a towel before starting this whole ordeal.

There was not.

She groaned loudly.

* * *

For the record, having Thor leave his patient to come rescue her naked ass was not something she was proud of.

He did it anyway, politely leaving the towel on the toilet seat and reassuring her that Clint was in good hands with Bruce and was not in danger of losing his life. Darcy still apologized profusely, feeling more and more like an idiot. Thankfully Thor left her in peace to dress and she might have ripped through her hair a little too hard as she brushed it, squeezing out the excess water with jerky movements.

Satisfied, she flung her wet hair over her shoulders, letting the curls air dry (mainly because she had no other option) and hung her soaked clothed over the shower curtain rod. Steam escaped the bathroom floating into the hallway as she left. Her bare feet followed the echoing trail of voices back to Clint’s room.

“—we don’t even know if he is alive.”

Darcy cautiously slipped into the room, pressing back against the wall. Groot noticed her immediately and gave her a small wave which she returned. He took that as an invitation to scoot next to her, copying her movements with his back pressed against the wall; when he got closer, he stared at her wet hair with those big, brown, doe eyes. Slowly, he lifted a twig-like hand to touch the wet strands and Darcy held very still, unsure what to do.

“The last Pepper heard he was on that ship that landed here,” Bruce scratched at the stubble growing on his chin, “and that thing left earth.”

There was a pause and Steve turned to Bruce, “So Tony is stuck in space somewhere?”

“Again, if he is even alive,” Clint added.

Groot now held a handful of her hair and was petting it with his other twiggy hand and Darcy wondered if there was anything in her life that was stranger than this moment. She couldn’t think of anything and that was saying a lot.

“He had this spider-kid with him,” Bruce lifted his gaze and Darcy looked up, her hair slipping from Groot’s grasp and he looked amazed at how slippery it was.

She didn’t stop him when he tried to grab it again, something about the creature oddly charming.

“The kid from Queens?” Steve asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Bruce shook his head, “I don’t know where he’s from, but he shot webs out of his hands and was pretty strong.”

“Not that kid again,” Clint groaned and then his head flopped to the side dramatically. “Hey Bruce, these drugs are great.”

Natasha shushed the archer quietly and he shushed her right back so she resorted to simply covering his mouth with her palm. Thor watched the two of them, thick arms folded over his chest, one hand holding his chin, and then turned to the others, thoughtful. “If I knew Tony’s clear location I could bring him home.”

Groot took the strand of hair he had been holding and slowly brought it to his small, wooden mouth. Darcy’s eyes slid his way and he froze, going utterly lifeless—to the point that she might have thought he were a regular tree if she didn’t know any better.

She narrowed her eyes and tugged her hair away from his mouth and he still did not move.

“There’s no way we could track him though,” Bruce was saying and something about it cracked like a whip in Darcy’s mind, her attention turning completely to him, “we don’t have the equipment.”

Her eyes dropped to the floor, her face pinched in thought, and then—

“I have an idea.” 

They all turned to her at once and Darcy face heated under their undivided attention. She hadn’t exactly planned on saying that as loud as it came out, but she had and there was no going back now. She pushed off the wall, stepping forward, noticing absently that Groot was no longer frozen and was secretly reaching for her hair once more. 

“Darcy?” Thor prompted.

Her eyes flashed to his and stayed there, because the intensity in which the rest of them watched and waited was more than a little intimidating and it was so much easier (safer) to explain her crazy idea to Thor than to anyone else in that room. 

She wet her lips and swallowed, lifting her brows, “But I would need your help. Before—before everything Jane was working on a project called the _TeleThor_ ,” she watched Thor’s reaction carefully, when he nodded encouragingly, she continued. “It was a mutant version of a radio telescope that could send and receive frequencies and messages into deep space. She was creating it in hopes of making communication easier between you both,” Thor inhaled deeply, like he was experiencing some profound emotion he did not want to show. Darcy willed herself to flit her eyes to the others. “She had just finished it, Jane, and there were a few kinks to be worked out, but it _worked_ ,” Darcy said, her words coming faster and rising in excitement. She decided not to bring up the zappy issue, but maybe Thor could fix that, or at least Bruce. “It’s a long shot but it could detect if Tony is sending any SOS message or even it might give us the chance to call for help. If I could get back to the apartment in Boston, we could—”

“One of us will go,” Natasha cut her off, rising to her feet, something like _life_ shining through the redhead’s eyes for the first time.

Darcy shook her head, “You need me to find it.” When Natasha opened her mouth to object, Darcy plowed on, “Jane is— _was_ —a little paranoid,” she explained and her shoulders hunched up to her ears with a grimace. “She set booby traps on all of her work in case SHIELD decided to show up and try to steal her equipment again. Basically meaning that it will self-implode and our chances would be shot.”

“Oh god,” Clint spoke up blearily from the bed. He lifted an almost lifeless hand and pointed his finger in Darcy’s general direction. “I _do_ know you.”

Rolling her eyes, Darcy tilted her head at the drugged up archer. “Yeah, and I know you, thief. How was the tequila?”

“Coma inducing.”

“So it was good then.”

Clint laughed and then winced, hand going to his wound, “Could use some now.”

“Darcy,” Thor called, his tone low and careful and something about the look on his face had Darcy inwardly bracing herself. He hesitated, and then, “I hear your heart in this but I do not think it is wise for you to go.”

Well, that fucking hurt.

She stared at him for a long time, mouth set in disbelief, her chest stinging with embarrassment. She expected push back from the others, but not from him and it jabbed at an already far too tender place deep inside of her.

“Why not?” She asked, letting more hurt and anger bleed into her voice than she had intended. “Is it because I’m human? Or is it because I’m weak?”

Thor blinked in shock at the venom there but didn’t respond; Darcy narrowed her eyes.

“Look, I get it, all of you are super powerful and incredible and I’m just little old me, but—”

“You couldn’t defend yourself,” Natasha told her, a heavy look in her eyes, like she was trying to silently ask Darcy to stop, “not against this.”

But Darcy was beyond the point of stopping. She was incapable of stopping. 

“If what Clint says is right and there is some kind of bounty out on the Avengers heads, it sounds to me like _you_ need _me_ right now.” Her blood boiled and her heart leapt into her throat, things that she kept hidden for far too long crawling out of her mouth with every single word she bit out. It splattered on the ground before all of them, messy and awful and _god_ she needed to be able to do this. Darcy flung her arms out, nearly missing Groot’s face. “I am practically the poster girl for being a nobody, the underdog,” she paused, face screwing up, voice hard, “I’m the little guy here, and you need that.”

Near the window, Steve, who had been staring at the ground, all but silent during the exchange, slowly lifted his head and it was like a mountain rising out of the sea. He stared at her and his gaze was a living thing, piercing through her skin, igniting her insides and setting them ablaze. She held his stare and tasted revolution on her tongue. 

When Darcy spoke this time, it was directly to Steven Grant Rogers. 

“I can do it,” she said and her voice was not exactly shaking, “just give me a chance.”

Flames licked at her skin and Darcy thought she might detonate.

Thor shifted and the movement tore her eyes from the locked stare with the Captain. The god’s expression was apologetic, but firm, and Darcy knew what he was going to say before he said it and she _hated_ it. “My vote is no.”

“These guys are serious business,” Natasha added, quietly but with a will that would not be moved. “I’m with Thor.”

Bruce nodded next, giving her a sad smile, “Sorry.”

Like a balloon slowly losing its air, Darcy deflated. Her eyes stung and inwardly she begged and pleaded with herself not to cry in front of them. Her face burned and she couldn’t quite find her voice, so she nodded and stepped back to lean against the wall.

They continued their conversation, planning and plotting what they, as all capable superheroes, were going to do and Darcy faded into the background only half-heartedly fighting off the tree that wanted to chew on her hair. 

* * *

Thor had tried to apologize later that night, explaining his reasoning, rewrapping her feet and applying some cream to help the healing along. Darcy didn’t say much, not trusting her words and though she was hurt, her heart didn’t want to hurt Thor in return. She still loved him as she would love her own flesh and blood, but hurting him in return for hurt he handed her wouldn’t help the situation at all. So she stayed quiet, subdued, she ate a very late dinner and answered questions, she gave blood for Clint when Bruce softly requested it, and then retired to her room.

Clint was knocked out in his bed after being stitched up, the medication having settled deeply into his system offering him a blissful, pain free slumber. 

Her door quietly clicked shut and Darcy fell back against it, sighing. She slid down to the floor, kicking one leg out straight, draping her arm over her knee. Her eyes stared blankly ahead.

An hour or two must have passed as she sat there, lost in her thoughts, but she couldn’t be sure. Darcy was used to feeling some measure of uselessness when it came to working for Jane. The woman was a genius, the frontline runner for astrophysics, and many times even the most basic aspects of her work was like another language to Darcy. Plus, she was downright gorgeous. She was used to feeling like dead weight with Thor because he was a fucking Norse god and her strength and knowledge compared to his was flat out laughable. The Avengers, she knew, would be no different as the most brilliant and powerful beings on earth.

Even if she knew the reality, it didn’t change her emotions and she just felt so… lacking. Everything in her wanted to help, to be a part of something and not just the tag-along side-kick there for laughs.

But life in general had dealt Darcy Lewis an average card.

She was cute, not stunning; smart, not brilliant; funny, not hilarious; good, not great. Everything she was always seemed to just miss the mark of being _something_. She had thought she made her peace with all of this long ago, but even being stood up on the stupid date the other night had stirred those old feelings up.

Nothing she ever did would be enough.

Or maybe it was just that _she_ wasn’t enough.

Her head slipped back, thumping heavily against the door. She sighed, staring up at the blank ceiling above. A second later, there was a knock on her door. Frowning, unsure if she was hearing things, Darcy lifted her head and stilled, listening hard. 

A second knock. 

Gracelessly she rose to her feet and cracked open the door, peeking through. Catching a glimpse of her visitor, she blinked, lips parting in shock, and then opened she opened the door wider.

Steve Rogers stood there, his gaze locked squarely onto hers, a strand of blond hair falling over his forehead. Dark brows pulled down over those blue eyes into a look that burned, that same fiery thing moving behind his eyes, pacing. He tilted his head.

“You up for a trip?”

It took a second to register and then Darcy’s eyes grew almost comically big and she exhaled a soft, hissing, “ _Hell yes_.” 

Steve watched her and there was something almost like triumph in his eyes, like he wanted this as much as her. Maybe more. “Be ready in thirty.”

“Okay,” Darcy instantly agreed, pulse throbbing in her neck. He turned to leave and a thought struck her. She leaned halfway out of her door, whispering harshly, “Wait!” Steve stopped his quick paced walk and turned, brows lifting. She shrugged a little, “What do I need to bring?”

He just looked at her for a long time.

“Something you can run in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else wants to go on a trip with nomad Steve? -raises hand desperately- 
> 
> Thank you to all of those who read, comment, offer kudos, subscribe, bookmark, or share this fic on [Tumblr!](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) I truly appreciate each and every one of you and hope you enjoy this story as much as I do. You are the best <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, who else is ready for Darcy and Steve’s day of fun?! Also known as the super-secret-danger-don’t-tell-Thor-mission. God, I was so excited to write this.

Thirty minutes had passed.

Darcy realized, belatedly, that Steve had given no further instruction other than to simply ‘be ready’. So she did just that. Her hair was tucked into a French braid, she was dressed in black leggings and a dark gray baggy sweatshirt. Her sneakers were on, she had a bottle of water… and now she was sitting on her bed obsessively staring at her door with no idea what to do or where to go.

Surely Steve wasn’t just waiting for her in the kitchen where anyone could see them…?

… Or was he?

Scratching the side of her neck, Darcy’s knee jiggled, her muscles twitchy and anxious. Another five agonizing minutes passed and still nothing. Her lips thinned and she rose with a huff, marching to the door.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Pausing, hand on the door knob, Darcy slowly turned on her heel. A familiar pale face stared at her through the small window, the hulk of his shadowed body crouched on the fire escape. Steve’s knuckle was still pressed against the glass but his eyes locked on hers and he jerked his head, his blond hair tossing as he wordlessly called her over.

Darcy nearly tripped over her feet in her hurry. He scooted back when she drew near but then her steps stuttered, her eyes dropping to the bolt permanently holding the window down. Pointing to it, she mouthed at him, ‘I can’t open it’ with a very dramatic flair. Steve glanced down unhappily before crawling forward once more. He placed his hands just below the window, palms facing her, tucking his fingers in.

It opened with a pop and a simple flex of his muscles. Darcy’s brows lifted and she nodded in clear appreciation but Steve merely held a finger up to his lips, his expression drawn and serious.

She followed him out onto the fire escape without falling on her face and that was a bonus. The fact that he had held out his hands, arms at the ready to catch her in case she did, didn’t speak much of his confidence though.

 _Or maybe he is just being a nice guy and making sure you don’t fall to your untimely death?_ Darcy’s brain offered.

Really, it was debatable.

They were two stories high and the grated floor beneath her wobbled under their combined weight. Judging by its age and instability, she imagined that it was going to make quite a bit of noise on their journey to the bottom. Pulling her lip between her teeth, Darcy gripped the railing and leaned over the edge, peeking at the pavement below. She straightened to find Steve watching her, his gaze measuring. 

“If this is going to work,” he began, his voice hushed, “then you’re going to have to trust me.”

Darcy’s brows pulled together, “I do trust you,” she whispered.

Steve just looked at her for a long moment, assessing the truth behind her words. Finally, he inhaled. “You’re going to have to jump.”

“I take it back,” Darcy reeled, shaking her head. “I don’t trust you.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll go first and then I’ll catch you.”

She eyed him warily. Sure, he was plenty strong enough, but the idea of leaping from this height was still scary as hell. Darcy must have hesitated too long because he got a little agitated, shifting on his feet, his hands going to his narrow hips.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?”

Her head snapped up, eyes flashing at the tone in his voice. She bristled, “Of course I did.”

“Then jump,” he told her with challenging lift of his eyebrows. Darcy swallowed down the cold dread creeping up her throat.

“Fine,” she said at last and then whirled around, sticking a finger in his face, her voice a strangled promise of doom. “I’ll haunt your ass if I die; every time you lose a sock or run out of milk or oversleep or get a flat tire _it’ll be me_.”

Something like amusement fluttered across his stoic face but to his credit, Steve nodded seriously before gripping the railing and launching himself over the edge, dropping to the ground in absolute silence.

“ _Woah_ ,” Darcy breathed out, rushing to see if he made it.

He did and of course it was really fucking cool. Except… now it was her turn. Which was _infinitely_ less cool.

She could make out his blond hair and the glow of his face in the darkness but that was about it. He tilted his head up, staring at her, gesturing encouragingly with a twitch of his fingers. Carefully she slung a short leg over the railing, blood marching in her ears as she took a moment to straddle the uncomfortable metal bar and breathe. Gripping the rusty steel, she hooked the heel of her shoe on the lip of the edge and gradually brought down the other leg. The tendons on her hands were bone white as she dangled over the empty darkness, staring down at Captain fucking America.

He positioned himself, arms wide, and it wasn’t a world shattering height, but it also wasn’t as simple as jumping into a pool. 

“C’mon Darcy, just fucking _do it_ ,” she told herself, her voice shaking with nerves.

Above, a star stood alone in the inky blackness and it twinkled brightly, as if it was cheering her on as well. Darcy was a person who place a certain store on symbols and so she stopped delaying the inevitable and closed her eyes and threw herself off the fire escape with a begging whisper of, “ _Jane, don’t let me die!_ ”

Crisp night air whipped around her on all sides and for a few terrifying seconds she simply _fell_. It was an awful feeling until the moment she landed in Steve’s arms with a stinging jolt. Blinking rapidly up at his face, Darcy’s fingers clutched his biceps hard enough to leave bruises.

“See?” He said with the trail end of a sassy smirk as he held her easily. “No haunting necessary.”

“The night is still young,” Darcy squeaked out and released the breath she had been holding, though her muscles remained tense.

Steve carefully lowered her to the ground and it was in that moment that she realized just how fucking huge this dude was. She was used to big men after hanging around Thor, but seeing it on someone else was always a bit jarring. Darcy was face to barrel chest with Steve and she craned her neck back to stare up at his stupidly handsome face atop his even stupider broad, grabbable shoulders (she should know, she was currently latched on for dear life).

His eyes widened a fraction as some unnamable emotion swam through his eyes, and then he stepped back. The shutters fell behind his eyes effectively closing her out, warm hands left their place on her waist with the faintest of brushes. Whatever playfulness he had was gone and in return was the no-nonsense leader of the Avengers.

 _Holy shit,_ it hit Darcy with no small amount of wonder. She was going on an adventure with the _leader_ of the _Avengers_. 

This was officially going on any resume she wrote in the future.

A distant, girlish part of her wanted to break into giggles. Thankfully, she restrained herself.

“Come on,” Steve murmured quietly, his eyes staying on her as he took another careful step back. 

She swept her arm out in a ‘lead the way’ type of manner.

He did.

Darcy followed as he brought them out of the alley to the main street. They walked down a couple of blocks staying mostly in the shadows and avoiding the street lights. Darcy had to almost half jog to keep up with the pace he set, the skin on the soles of her feet pulling and stretching and, belatedly, she realized, quite possibly tearing if the sudden gush of warmth was anything to go by. It hurt like hell but she clenched her jaw and didn’t say a word about it.

There would be time to worry later. Right now she had something to prove.

Turning down another street lined with vehicles, Steve finally slowed, bright eyes sweeping over a few of the cars before landing on an older dark tan Toyota.

“Wait here,” Steve told her, motioning to the swallowing shadows and Darcy stepped back into them, fading from sight.

He moved swiftly, one hand in his pocket as he glanced this way and that, his shoulders hunched. He was dressed in dark clothing, like she was, and Darcy would be lying to say that she didn’t at least glance at the way his form-fitting jeans hugged his very round ass. She liked to think her eyes were drawn there because he was pulling out some shiny, metal, hooked object from his pocket as he approached his targeted car. 

But that would be a lie.

It took less than a few seconds for him to slip the object in the space between the window and the door to pop the lock. The car was old enough that it didn’t have an alarm and Steve quickly slipped inside. 

A small grin cracked on her lips because someone, at some point in their life, had taught Steve Rogers how to hotwire a car. Oddly enough, Darcy really wanted to meet whoever that was because this was fucking brilliant and borderline hilarious (or maybe she was a little bit hysterical given that she had just thrown herself off of a two story drop).

In no time an engine roared to life, clouded headlights illuminating the street. Darcy took that as her cue to run over. Steve leaned across the seats, manually unlocking her door just as she reached him and she slid into the seat with a wild grin. 

“Seatbelt,” he told her immediately and Darcy twisted around, latching onto the metal clip and pulling it across her body. 

Like some middle-aged soccer mom, not a badass superhero who jumped off of the sides of buildings and stole cars in the middle of the night, Steve waited until she was properly buckled before pulling out of the parking spot. They were the only ones on the road and Steve’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his lips set in a hard line. Both of them kept a wary eye out, the tension in the car growing thick and difficult to breathe the further they drove.

“Ground rules,” Steve declared without looking at her.

He turned down another street headed ultimately for the highway. Darcy glanced at him. “Okay, shoot.”

“You do as I say,” his voice gave no room for argument. “If I say run, you run without even glancing back, no matter what is happening, and _you don’t stop running_. If I say hide, you hide as best as you can for as long as you can. If I say duck, or anything else then that is exactly what you are going to do. No questions asked, no excuses—you listen and you obey orders.”

Darcy was quiet for a moment, the reality of what he was saying, of what they were actually doing, sinking in to her skin. Fear rose like a wave but there was a reason why she was doing this in the first place and if she could just keep that in the forefront of her mind, she would be okay. She could do this.

Exhaling heavily through her nose, she nodded once.

“Got it.”

Shifting in her seat, the dull ache under her big toe instantly morphed into the stabby kind of pain when she twisted her foot the wrong way. Darcy held her breath, going still and waited for the moment to pass. When it finally did, her nose scrunched. 

“Thor is going to kill me,” she admitted quietly and it was probably true. Not literally, of course, but she was going to be in some deep shit. Her eyes slid to the man driving and her lips quirked. “Or you.”

“I can handle Thor for myself,” Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in a quick pattern and Darcy was only mildly jealous of the self-assured way with which he spoke. As if sensing that, he slanted a look her way, “Can you?”

Darcy thought about it. She had seen Thor angry, had seen him command the skies and summon lightning, had seen his face turn bright red as he roared out his fury; it was a frightening thing. She had never seen Thor angry at _her_ and she found that she didn’t like the prospect of it.

But she didn’t like the thought of being useless and a deadweight even more.

“I think so?”

Steve said nothing about the fact that her phrase was more of a question than an actual answer.

The car fell quiet as they reached the highway. There were a few other vehicles on the road, the first signs of life, but they were speeding by too quickly to see the drivers. Still, for the most part it was a ghost town. The car accelerated with a hum and Darcy watched the street lights passing over them in quick succession the faster they went, like flashes of a camera.

She took the moment to secretly observe the man beside her. She knew him, as all Americans knew him; there were history books solely dedicated to the man for fuck’s sake. Outside of that, Darcy had watched interviews with him on the television, dropped her jaw at the screenshots of him in action—he was America’s Golden Boy and he _looked_ it (or… he used to). His body was a goddamn weapon, a specimen built for war; his face was all sharp angles and smooth skin. Full lips peeked out from his whiskers, his mouth was soft but set in a hard line; his nose was straight and proud. 

But there was also something wild breathing just beneath his skin, a sharp, reckless edge; a living coal, glowing and blistering and burning, feeding off of something she could not see. Maybe it had always been there or maybe it had grown over the last few years in exile.

“Do you always stare this much?”

Darcy jerked, warm blood rushing to her cheeks making it look as if she had been smacked and smacked again. Her mouth opened and words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Can I ask a weird question?” 

He nodded, not saying anything, and Darcy tore her eyes from him, staring out at the road, a blush still firmly on her cheeks.

“Everyone else seemed pretty dead set on not letting me go on this little adventure,” she picked at a loose thread on her sleeve as she paused, tilting her head. “What changed your mind?”

A beat of silence.

“Who said I ever was on the fence about letting you go in the first place?” Steve countered and Darcy’s face snapped up. Eyes the color of deep arctic oceans flicked her way.

“It was something you said,” he told her and there was honesty ringing there. She straightened in her seat, watching and waiting as he carefully chose his words. “Everyone knows my story, how I started out—a ninety-five pound bag of bones with a shot immune system. But the night before the serum, the scientist who created it came to visit me. I asked him a similar question: why he chose me out of all of the other more capable candidates…” Steve paused here with a laugh that didn’t quite make it out of his throat. “He told me it was because I was weak.”

Darcy blanched, “I don’t understand.”

“Neither did I. But he told me to always remember that a weak man knows the value of strength and compassion,” Steve tongue wet his bottom lip and he pulled it between his teeth, his voice drifting further away. “Eventually it made me realize that maybe physical ‘weakness’ isn’t all that we think it is. Strength of will and heart… that’s _power_ and it doesn’t always belong to the giants of this world.” The Captain’s gaze caught hers for a brief moment and she saw her own reflection staring back in his eyes. “It's often the little guys. That’s why we’re in this car. You remind me of myself; you asked for a chance and I think you deserve it.”

Her eyes lowered to her hands, empty, but oh so willing.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, quietly, and she meant it more than she had ever meant the phrase before.

Steve’s brows were furrowed and he seemed to be thinking intently, or remembering. Finally, he nodded and something shifted between the two of them, settling into place with a sigh.

It was an understanding.

* * *

“God it’s quiet.”

Neither had said much for the rest of the drive to the border of Boston. Part of it awkwardness of not knowing the other person very well and the other part given the state of… well, everything. It wasn’t exactly the time to play twenty questions. Darcy also might have drifted off once or twice, jerking herself awake each time; Steve had merely driven in a brooding sort of silence, showing no signs of exhaustion.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Steve reasoned.

“Yeah, but Boston even at three in the morning usually still has movement and—and _life_. It’s weird, you know? It doesn’t feel real. Like we are all living in the space between one breath and the next…” Darcy’s voice trailed off, eyes glued to the vacant looking city. Her fingertip touched the cool glass, “People are waiting to breathe again.”

Steve seemed to viscerally react to that, stiffening, something sharp and biting in his face. “Where to?”

“Third exit, then you’ll take a left.”

He followed her directions the rest of the way, her words were clipped and to the point, tension rolling through both of them the closer they got to the townhouse she and Jane had shared. Darcy hadn’t given much thought about what it might be like to walk back into the place that reeked of memories with Jane when the pain was still so fresh. Her heart twisted and her throat closed and Darcy gasped quietly, willing everything in her to turn to steel—to please, _just this once_ , let her be strong, like everyone else seemed to have the ability to be.

When they turned down the final street, the building loomed, dark and haunting, speckled with moving shadows from a nearby tree. Steve slowed the car and Darcy pointed to the second townhouse from the right, eyes fixated on her home with unshed tears.

“There.”

Steve tucked the car in a spot between two others across the street from her front door and cut the engine. Silence filled the space between them. Steve was watching her, she could feel it even though she had her back to him, facing out the window as she tried to get a fucking grip.

“You ready?” He asked and the pity in his voice made her stomach knot up.

Angrily, she wiped her sleeve across her eyes. Darcy didn’t answer, just opened her door and climbed out of the car. They made sure to shut the doors with a soft _click_ before jogging across the street. Darcy pulled the key out of the tiny pocket on the inside waist band of her leggings and unlocked the door while Steve watched her six, eyes roving back and forth.

Inside was pitch black and eerie in its stillness and there was a very odd instant where it didn’t feel like her home at all. 

It felt like a stranger’s. 

They stepped inside and shut the door and Darcy reached for the hall light switch but Steve’s hand stopped her. He made a ‘wait here’ gesture and silently crept forward. Darcy waited, alone, holding her breath, as he inspected the place. It felt like hours when it actuality it was only a minute or so before he returned.

“All clear.”

Darcy didn’t waste a second before flipping on the light, banishing the darkness and shadows with a sigh of relief. The familiarity of her home returned with the light and it pulled at her with greedy hands of nostalgic movie nights and homemade dinners gone wrong. Exhaling harshly, Darcy shoved that away for the moment and moved quickly to the hall closet. Her feet stung and she latched onto that pain above all else as a physical reminder of why she was even having to do this in the first place. Steve followed her, on her heels, like an oversized shadow.

“Don’t touch anything,” Darcy warned him and he didn’t respond but she knew he would listen.

There was a pack of Orbit sweet mint gum on an antique shelf Jane had found at a flea market and Darcy snagged it, ripping the green package open. She pulled out a small, rectangular piece of gum, unwrapped it and stuffed it in her mouth. She chewed with vigor, fully aware of the odd look Steve was giving her, and threw open the closet door revealing that it wasn’t a closet at all but a very large safe—similar to ones that avid hunters owned to store all of their ridiculous guns.

“Here comes the easy part,” she said aloud, punching in the ten digit code ‘ _SHERLOCKED_ ’ (because they were goddamn nerds in this house and proud of it). The safe beeped and internally something shifted, clicking open. Darcy chomped on the gum even harder.

She twisted the handle and cautiously tugged the safe open. It obeyed her beautifully and Darcy’s chest tightened at the sight of Jane’s precious work all piled together in one spot. Behind her, Steve was peering over her shoulder, staring at the mess of contraptions and machinery inside like it was a snake. 

“I know, it looks bad—”

“Half of that looks like homemade explosives.”

“It’s not…” Darcy started and then squinted, moving the gum to her other cheek. “I mean, it looks like it, but it’s totally not. Well, not _really_. It’s safe. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

She twisted, shooting him a look over her shoulder. “I did say opening the safe was the easy part, didn’t I? I never said anything about the contents inside.”

“As long as you know what you’re doing,” Steve told her and Darcy rolled her eyes with a scoff, turning back around just in time to hide her nervous gulp and grimace. She may or may not have nearly choked on her gum. 

Coughing, she saved it from going down her throat and began chewing on it once more. Her heart was pounding through her chest like a war drum and she was glad Steve couldn’t hear it or see the trembling in her fingers. Technically, she had watched Jane dismantle her booby traps countless times… she had just never done so herself. 

Not that Steve needed to know that.

Darcy squatted down, peering up at the three small glass bottles resting precariously on a built in ledge above the slew of Jane’s equipment, just hidden from sight. There was a nearly invisible string of fishing line connecting to all three of them, a knife, and something that resembled a sensor that was flashing a miniscule red light.

“Oh, _Jane_.” If there was anything in this world that held Jane Foster’s fingerprints, it was shit like this. Blinking harshly because she missed the hell out of that woman, Darcy shook her head. “If I lose my hand,” she began and was only half joking, “don’t panic.”

Steve didn’t find her joke very funny but Darcy didn’t have time to think about that. She reached up and took the gum from her mouth, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger. Slowly she reached up and weaved through the fishing line, careful not to touch it, to press the chewed up gum firmly over the sensor. Instantly the red light disappeared and Darcy’s breath locked in her chest as she waited while the thing seemed to process what it had received. Finally the light changed to green and Darcy sat back on her heels, pumping her fist in the air.

“It worked!”

Next to her, Steve knelt down, curiously peering up. “What is it?”

“Those three bad boys are a nasty combination of chemicals. If the wire was tripped by someone opening the safe and moving the equipment without first deactivating the sensor, they would tip over and melt the flesh off your bones and probably destroy everything in here. It’s some real _Home Alone_ shit we’ve got going on here but that was Jane’s style with everything.”

“Haven’t seen that one yet,” Steve murmured, his gaze locked on the sticky sensor. “So, all that was needed was… gum?”

“Not exactly. The sensor requires my or Jane’s DNA with a combination of the acesulfame potassium specific to this brand of gum to not set off the trigger.” When Steve just stared at her, Darcy shrugged, “It doesn’t make much sense to me but Jane drilled it in my head.”

The Captain hesitated for a moment. “No offense, but this seems pretty extreme…”

“Yeah, well SHIELD once raided Jane’s lab and stole all of the equipment that she had spent most of her life and all of her money building from scratch. It was her income, her stability, and her passion. They took it because they wanted it and nothing more. They gave no thought to what was right or wrong in the situation or how she was supposed to sustain her life afterwards. They eventually gave it back… but still, it was a bit traumatic,” Darcy defended, feeling prickly. Jane might have been quirky but she was _her_ quirky scientist.

There was a beat of silence and then—

“Sounds like SHIELD to me,” Steve muttered with distaste. Darcy turned to him, surprise clear on her face.

Then she remembered.

The Steve Rogers that had once been the fist, the enforcer, the weapon of SHIELD was no more. That man was gone, had been unmade. What stood in his place was a different kind of animal, one that ran by his own code and was beholden to no one. 

Silently, Darcy turned back to Jane’s equipment and dug around a little, metal and plastic clanged as she shifted things until she found the treasure with a victorious _ah-ha!_

Snatching it up, she twisted around and waggled the chunky black device in Steve’s face, “This is the _TeleThor_.”

“I thought you said it was a radio telescope?”

“Oh, it is,” Darcy told him, her head bobbing up and down. “That part is over there on the table,” she pointed behind him into the living room. He turned on his haunches to see the _TeleThor’s_ large counterpart. “I’ve already lugged that thing around once and it’s a beast, so I’m going to have you carry it tonight, Muscles.” 

The nickname slipped out before she could stop it. Steve slanted an amused look her way, lifting a single brow, at the use of it and Darcy smiled in a way that was more just showing her teeth than an actual grin. 

Clearing her throat, she continued, “But this little guy is the most important aspect, hence why he lives in the safe. You need both for it to work.”

Steve nodded absently, his gaze drifting back to the pile (Jane would call it _organized chaos_ ) of machinery in the safe. “You should bring anything else that might be useful.” 

“Good idea, let me take a look.”

Darcy handed the _TeleThor_ to Steve and turned back to the safe. Most of the stuff was only partially finished or focused mainly on tracking star patterns, but propped up in the back right corner was something Darcy was all too familiar with. It was not a creation of Jane’s but of Erik Selvig’s. He had made them during the Convergence when he was fond of taking off his pants (something that she was sure, in his retirement, he still was fond of…) and had since given them to Jane. 

Her face lit up at the sight of the long, metal sticks that had worked as teleportation devices during the invasion of the Dark Elves. Darcy wasn’t sure if it would work without the Convergence, but it was worth trying. 

She pulled them from the safe and stood, turning around to show off her find, but Steve was nowhere to be seen. Darcy leaned on her tip toes, the pain biting at her feet now, and glanced around. Cautiously, she moved to the dining table and set the sticks next to the _TeleThor_.

“Steve?” She called out softly.

There was a window over the kitchen sink with a few potted succulent plants and a picture frame—or there _used_ to be a picture frame there. Now it was resting in Steve’s hands. 

He was a dark silhouette against the light that filled the room behind him. He was staring down at the picture, his face unreadable.

Darcy knew the picture he was looking at—had smiled at it numerous times herself. It was a photo Darcy had secretly snapped of Jane and Thor during a night where they had a bonfire. The two were lost in one another, their skin fire-kissed, hands clasped, pressing their foreheads together and simply breathing one another in. A quiet testament to their love. It was a personal favorite of Jane’s.

“Can I bring this?” Steve asked, suddenly, his voice sounding very strange. His eyes flicked to Darcy, “For Thor?”

Inside her chest, her heart ached. She hadn’t even thought to bring him back something of Jane’s. 

Her throat was tight and it was suddenly very hard to swallow but she managed to say, “He would really like that, I bet.”

Steve said nothing, gaze drifting back to the photograph. After a moment, he walked back over, bringing it with him, his steps absolutely silent in the way that someone who was trained to move that way walked. He eyed the sticks she had brought warily and given Jane’s array of mad scientist habits, Darcy didn’t blame him.

“What are those?”

“Magic teleportation sticks that Erik made before he became a nudist. They saved my ass in London from an army of angry South Pole elves and I’m rather fond of them.”

Steve blinked in shock and then a quiet chuckle built in his belly and his lips curved as he adorably glanced down at his feet, “You know, at this point, I don’t even know why I bother asking.”

“I think you like being surprised,” Darcy teased, feeling oddly playful. “Or at least kept on your toes.”

A soft smile played about his lips and Darcy watched in amazement as everything about the man seemed to relax. It was amazing, really, just how tightly Steve had been strung this entire night. Or perhaps even longer.

“You’re right about that,” Steve’s voice was a deep rumble and there was _something_ in his voice that she couldn’t quite name but it made her heart skip a beat.

“Well good,” Darcy murmured, her voice dropping low, the wings of a bird fluttering about in her stomach until it reached her throat and flew out of her mouth, “because I’m pretty good at doing both.”

Both of them went still at her words, until Steve’s eyes slowly skimmed up from the ground to meet hers. The look he gave her through those dark lashes was devastating and she wasn’t even sure if he was aware of what he was doing or how things had shifted so suddenly.

Darcy felt herself automatically smiling back at him, a slow growing display of mirth, and—

Oh god, was she flirting with Captain America? 

In the middle of a secret mission?

“Okay!” Darcy shouted suddenly, clapping her hands together like a dork because there was a very attractive man staring at her in a way that she desperately didn’t want to misinterpret. Her pulse throbbed in her neck and she turned all of her focus on the _TeleThor_ , snatching the smaller piece up in her hands. “Before we go, let me just set this up briefly—to make sure it works,” Steve’s brows lifted as he stepped closer (oh god, he smelled good). Darcy’s voice became a little manic. “You never know with some of this stuff, it can be finicky. So if we just take this cord and we connect these two… right… here!” The _TeleThor_ glowed to life and Steve reeled back out of the way as the mobile satellite whirred on its head in search of a signal. “ _OH!_ It works!”

“You seem surprised.”

“Well, before when Jane was putting the finishing touches on it, the thing spewed baby lightning at her. Considering the fact that I have not been electrocuted, I consider this a total success.”

“Is Jane’s work always so…” Steve trailed off, squinting as he searched for the word. Darcy piped up instantly.

“Genius?”

“ _Hazardous_.”

Darcy paused, giving that a moment of serious thought.

“You know,” she began, pursing her lips, “a little bit. But hey, what is life without risks, am I right?”

At that moment, the _TeleThor_ began spouting off some sort of alarm as the satellite whirled around. Darcy wasn’t even aware that it _had_ an alarm, but it was blaring louder and louder by the second.

“ _Shit, shit,_ _shit_ —”

Steve stiffened, instantly on alert. He gestured at the machine wildly, “Turn it off!”

“I’m _trying_!”

Panicked, Darcy pressed every button available but nothing was stopping the wailing of the alarm. Finally she smacked the thing on the table a few times until it finally stopped. Steve had gone by the window, looking out to the street as though he expected for Thanos himself to come bursting through the townhouse any second.

Ears ringing, Darcy sucked in air like she had just run a marathon.

 _Ding_.

Her eyes bulged as she clumsily reached for the _TeleThor_ once more, fearing it would start again. But it did not. The screen gave a soft green glow and Darcy’s eyes flitted over the readings becoming more confused by the second.

“Uh, hey Steve?”

Footsteps approached and he was a heavy presence just over her shoulder. “Is it picking something up already?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said slowly, “but it’s not from space. It looks like its back in New York City. Someone is sending out an SOS there with a hell of a lot of firepower.”

“Can I see the coordinates?”

Darcy handed the _TeleThor_ to Steve and when his blue eyes skimmed the location, he went very still. His breath left him in a soft exhale.

“That’s near the tower.”

* * *

One thing that Darcy definitely appreciated about Steve Rogers was that she didn’t have to do much convincing to get him to agree to do something that others might consider stupid. In fact, he was the one to make the suggestion this time and Darcy had been delighted with her new partner in not-crime. Between the two of them, the votes were unanimous and they were making a pit-stop at Stark Industries tower in Manhattan on the way back to the safe house.

“It should be here, somewhere,” Darcy’s voice was nothing but a soft murmur.

Steve nodded, face pulled tight in concentration. “Spread out but stay in eyesight.”

“Got it, Muscles.”

She didn’t get the chance to see the reaction from Steve as she tested out the nickname once again but she liked to imagine that he was secretly grinning. _She_ certainly was.

Okay, so she was starting to enjoy this whole secret mission life.

The horizon had a thin glowing line that was gradually increasing, signaling the coming of dawn. Darcy hurried her steps, knowing that their natural cover would be gone very soon. Her eyes roved the ground, searching past all of the debris for… well, she wasn’t quite sure. All she knew was that it was a machine of some sort and somewhere on this street according to the _TeleThor_.

There was a low whistle, clear and it cut through the air.

She whirled around, wincing as her right foot in particular (where the nasty toe cut was) flared with sharp pain. Steve’s gaze flicked down her legs and then back up, like he had just realized something was wrong. When she merely lifted her brows in question, he held up a small, black device from where he was crouched.

Darcy limped over with a smile.

“Is this it?” She asked, excitedly, leaning into his space to get a look.

He didn’t answer. Eyes lowering to her foot once more and he frowned, “Darcy…”

“I’m fine,” she said hastily, turning all of her attention to what Steve had found and—

It was a pager.

There was an odd symbol on the screen that she had never seen before and Darcy's brows pinched together, taking the pager from Steve to inspect it closer. He let her, his body was poised like he wanted to say something, wide chest expanding with the oxygen that he would most likely use to lecture her about going on missions injured.

But he settled instead for, “I think so… _and_ I think I know who it belonged to.”

Darcy’s eyes flashed to his at the meaningful way he spoke. “Who?”

“Give me a second,” Steve told her and he jogged around the sleek, black SUV to the passenger side. The door was wide open, clear evidence that whoever had been inside had the same fate as Jane and so many others. 

She could barely make out Steve’s form through the heavily tinted windows but she could tell he was digging in the glove compartment when he suddenly went deathly still, the way an animal does when a predator is near. Frowning, Darcy took a step closer.

“Steve, is—”

He slowly turned his head her way, the rest of his body frozen, and something like dread crawled up Darcy’s spine like the legs of a thousand spiders. In the reflection of the window, there was a massive creature directly behind her. 

Later, Darcy would swear that her heart had stopped in that moment.

Spinning on her heel, her eyes bulged at the size of the thing before her and its sudden appearance, how it had been so silent, and before she could stop herself, her mouth fell open.

“AH— _Hello!_ ” She shouted at the giant, scaled, alien creature who just looked at her with flat, reptilian eyes that were anything but human. 

There were very few times in her life that Darcy did not know what to do, unfortunately this was one of them. Fear rushed through her like a wildfire and it felt a lot like insanity but under the burning heat of it all, the realization that she was about to die caused something inside of her to snap; later, she would realize it was her brain-to-mouth filter. 

“Wow, you are _very big_ , sir,” her voice was shaking and she was being very loud. Darcy craned her head back, willing herself not to look at the vicious pick-axe like weapon the creature carried. “Not in a bad way, but more in a ‘I’ve-never-seen-anything-like-that’ way. I’ve never been very tall so I always admire those who are above average height and you are _definitely_ above average. The advantages you have are outstanding, I bet. Plus, you’ve got a pretty solid build, I bet your workout plan is out of this world—literally and figuratively,” she babbled frantically and side-stepped, inching the creature away from facing wherever Steve was hiding.

It was like she was watching herself outside of her body, face bone white with terror, eyes glassy, and her mouth wouldn’t… stop… _moving_.

“Speaking of out of this world, have you tried the sushi here, yet?” Darcy squeaked out, her eyes perfect saucers as the creature just continued its dead stare. Maybe she was talking too fast? It felt fast to her but it also felt like she was going to die. She scooted to the side again and the alien gradually copied her movement. “If you haven’t, may I recommend it for your consumption? I, myself, am not very good for consumption, if you are into that sort of thing. I bet you require a lot of protein and I don’t know if sushi has a lot of protein but I do know that it’s delicious and sometimes healthy for you, except if you get the kind that is extra fried but then again _who cares_! Fried food is great and comforting—”

The scaled alien creature spoke in a guttural sort of grunting way and she jumped at the sound. Darcy shook her head stupidly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t really understand that but then again I also didn’t do very well with Spanish lessons in school. I lost my dog, Petunia. Sometimes I call her Steve. _Steve_ is a very good _hider_ but an even better _runner_! She’s a little larger than a hamster, but I realize you probably don’t know what those are, do you? They’re little fluff creatures that bring joy to children everywhere and sadly don’t often live very long to tell the tale. Do you have hamsters where you come from, mister…?”

“Leave it,” another voice spoke, this one distinctly female. Breathing was getting more difficult and Darcy trembled violently, unable to stop herself. Another alien creature approached slowly and Darcy still had no idea where they had come from. This one’s face twisted in disgust as she looked at Darcy, gesturing. “Its mind has broken. We have other quarry.”

Latching onto that, Darcy ran with it. “Oh look, another friend,” she declared at the alien woman and the thing gave her a clear ‘I would rather die’ look. “Have you seen Petunia?”

“Whatever is wrong with it,” the alien woman told her counterpart, speaking as though Darcy wasn’t standing right in front of them, "is no little thing.”

With another guttural sound, perhaps something like agreement, the two aliens turned and left, walking back through the streets silent as death.

Darcy, shouted after them like an idiot.

“Okay, I’ll keep looking but it was great meeting you— _BYE!_ ”

Hysteria was still flooding her system, her teeth clicked as she stood in the middle of the street shaking. The moment the two aliens were out of sight and made no sign of returning, she turned wildly to the SUV where she had last seen Steve. He popped up on the other side of the hood dropping a crow bar that he must've pulled from the SUV and rushed at her, not pausing as he bent and hauled her over his shoulder in one fluid move, running for the car.

“Oh my god make me stop,” Darcy was still babbling uncontrollably, “ _make me stop!_ ”

Steve’s hand curled over the back of her thigh as they reached the car and he swiftly lowered her back to the ground. 

“Get in the damn car.”

“Did I talk too much?” Her eyes were wild but her body obeyed the angry command automatically. Steve shut the door, enclosing her in silence… that is, if she could stop speaking. “Why won’t my heart stop racing? Am I still going to die? _SUSHI!_ ” The driver’s side door opened and Steve hastily started the car, throwing it into reverse. “Holy shit.”

“That was _fucking_ stupid,” he grit out, the veins in his forearms standing out against the tensed muscle. 

There were finger shaped dents in the steering wheel.

“You can’t be mad at me because technically you never said to run—or anything at all,” she told him and everything was shaking, her voice, her hands, everything. Oh god, she was cold. “We didn’t prepare for—for _aliens_ in our pep talk and I had to improvise but we’re alive! No blood and guts, no fighting. Peaceful resolution in the form of hamsters. Isn’t that great? Oh my god, ignore me until I stop.”

The car sped back to the highway, careful not to go at a speed that would be suspicious, and when they put enough distance between them and the incident, Steve, oddly enough began to laugh. Darcy looked at him as though he had lost his mind. Given the fact that she was fairly certain that she had just lost her mind, it wouldn't surprise her if he joined the club. Near death experiences tended to do that to people. 

His laugh was the breathless, ‘I can’t believe we are this stupid but still alive’ kind of laugh. Which was great because Darcy specialized in that.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Steve finally admitted and he kept blinking, like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. “I’ve never seen someone react like you just did. Screaming, fainting, flight or fight, sure, but… but _that_ …”

“Don’t tell Thor,” Darcy begged miserably. She still had the shakes but her heart was finally calming down and she realized that she was covered in sweat and smelled pretty gross. 

She suddenly sat up straight in her seat, her face contorting.

“Hey Steve?” She called out, her voice sounding off even to her ears. Steve turned, concerned, and she covered her mouth with one hand, gasping out, “Pull over, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split this chapter in two since it was getting too long. Whoopsies. But who else enjoyed that? XD
> 
> Thank you to all of those who have shown such love for this fic in so many different ways. I adore all of you. Don’t forget to check out the [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) for fun sneak peeks and manips.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to face the Asgardian Music, folks... THE ONLY REASON WHY THIS UPDATED SO QUICKLY was because I had over half of it already written due to splitting the previous chapter. Heh. This won't be a regular occurrence.

In his years as a soldier, Captain America had seen his fair share of blood, guts, and gore. He had witnessed a man’s leg get blown off by a hidden mine and another cut open like a tin can, spilling his intestines to the ground like a plate full of spaghetti. He was not squeamish and often had a clear head in moments of crisis and grave injury. It was something he had privately prided himself on more than once.

There was one thing, however, that Steven Grant Rogers absolutely could not handle and it was something Darcy Lewis seemed to do _all the goddamn time_.

“You done yet?”

He cautiously called over the car, eyes looking anywhere but at the woman doubled over, blowing chunks on the side of the highway. Like it was wanting to echo the sounds she made, Steve’s stomach started to churn and he gagged once, pressing a closed fist hard over his mouth, eyes sliding shut as he pulled on every ounce of his will to keep it all down.

“Are _you_ done yet?” Darcy yelled back, her voice miserable. He wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or was somehow aware that he was about to lose it.

Ever since he was a kid, he had been a… what had Bucky called it? 

_A sympathetic vomiter._

Darcy groaned like a dying animal and Steve’s gaze slid her way. Her hands were on her knees, she was panting and spitting and finally wiped her mouth with her shirt sleeve. He watched as her back straightened and her shoulders rose with a deep inhale before she turned around.

He carefully schooled his features and tried to appear understanding, “Feel better?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I have anything left in me to throw up.”

Steve swallowed hard. 

“Thank god for that.”

Darcy eyed him for a moment and Steve kept a straight face. Finally, she turned and seemed to acknowledge the rising sun for the very first time. Daylight had broken, the night had passed, their mission successful. 

Yet, despite the good news, her face pulled tight with worry.

Big, doe eyes landed on him, the wind tugged a strand of midnight hair loose from her braid and it whipped around her face like a live wire. Her rosy, plump lips parted.

Steve stared at her and for a moment he was transfixed. Then her words traveled the distance to his ears and he snapped back to himself.

“We should probably try to get back before Thor wakes up.”

“I think it might be too late for that,” Steve admitted. He watched the reality hit her, chin dropping in acceptance, shoulder slumping, and Steve couldn’t help himself. “I asked you earlier if you could handle Thor,” Steve paused until she met his gaze. His voice dropped low, brows lifting, “Can you?”

Darcy stared at him for a long moment. 

“I guess we’ll find out.”

She climbed back in the car.

* * *

They parked directly in front of the safe house. On the outside it looked like a row of individual brick apartments but Darcy had seen behind the mask and knew better. If she had not been inside herself, she never would have guessed that it was one large construct with many levels instead of the multiple homes that it had been designed to look like to those who didn’t know its secret.

It was a clever façade, really, and it made her wonder how many other “normal” looking things in life she had passed by without a second glance.

Steve cut the engine and she sat there in the silence, gathering her courage; a task that seemed to be harder than catching smoke with her bare hands. The driver’s door opened and the car shifted harshly, readjusting to the loss of Steve’s weight. Darcy remained sitting, frozen, desperately building the words in her head.

Her door opened suddenly and she blanched, jerking back. Steve had one hand on the door and he looked down at her with that measuring ocean gaze of his.

She stared back, blinking up at him. 

“What are our ground rules, Darcy?” he asked, squatting down so he was close to eye level with her. 

Whatever she had expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

“I do as you say…” She answered, words slow and confused.

“Good,” Steve nodded, his eyes becoming very serious. “Since you left out the detail about how injured you were and the fact that I can see your sock is bloody from here, I’m going to carry you inside.”

Her mouth opened and she stared at him in shock. Something that wasn’t quite shame and wasn’t quite anger but a strange mixture of the two flared to life in her chest.

“Is that an order?” she asked with no small amount of sass.

“Do I need to make it one?” he challenged right back.

Her brows shot up and a very small part of her was waiting for the Captain to crack a grin and tell her he was joking, but from the set of every line and shape of his body, he was not.

“You were perfectly fine letting me stand on my own two feet earlier—”

“—actually if I remember correctly, I carried you back to the car.”

Darcy’s jaw clenched hard enough that the pressure hurt her teeth. “I’m not a child, Steve, so don’t treat me like one just because we’re back with your Avenger buddies.”

The look Steve leveled on her was annoyed but also very clearly said not to test him. 

“This happened on my watch, Darcy.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Her blood buzzed with an anger that burned. “And technically, it _didn’t_ _happen_ on your fucking watch. I got hurt when I ran home in a blind terror as half of the world disintegrated into ash, Jane included. My shoes broke because I hate wearing anything on my feet but cheap sandals and as a result, I tore my feet up. _I_ did it. That was on me, not on you,” she seethed and her voice wasn’t quite shaking but it was close.

Steve’s expression didn’t change and Darcy knew in that moment, looking at him, that this was a man whose will she could not win against. Like a protective older sibling stepping aside from a fight, her anger fell away and what was left standing in its place was hollow and pitiful and so fucking weak. She lifted her eyes, swallowing wetly.

“Look, I know shit is about to go down with Thor and if we go in there acting like I am massively injured, he’s going to lose it. Just—just give me this little dignity and let me walk in there on my own two feet,” she begged and her voice broke. She swallowed down the rising flare of shame, “You can carry me around as much as you damn well please after that… but not right now.”

Quiet.

Darcy’s brows lifted in the middle. “Please, Steve.”

To his credit, he genuinely considered her plea. Darcy had half expected him to go all macho and force his way regardless of what she wanted. But Steve surprised her when he gave a slow, deep nod.

“Alright then,” he said, staring at her for a long moment, and then his gaze lowered and regret flashed across his face. “Can I ask why you didn’t tell me in the first place? It might have been important to know.”

 _Because it’s nothing but a stupid, little thing that would have held me back even more when you all have_ real _issues and_ real _pain_.

“Didn’t think of it,” Darcy lied with a shrug.

* * *

They walked in through the front door because there was no point in hiding.

The safe house was quiet; like stepping into a ball of cotton, everything was muted. Despite having just stayed up the entire night, Darcy was alert and calm, filled with a strange sense of stillness and purpose. She knew what she planned to say to Thor, could visualize it and tried to prepare for how he might respond. Steve trailed behind, somehow managing to carry everything they had brought with them, with the exception of the photograph.

Darcy clutched that between her two hands.

Her steps were short and halting as she limped further into the safe house. There were no lights on but the large window in the kitchen gave off a faint glow, piercing through the darkened house, beckoning her closer.

“I’m going to find a place for all of this,” Steve murmured quietly and Darcy gave him an absent sort of nod.

She followed the light.

Inside the kitchen, Thor sat at the oak dining table, faintly illuminated by the morning light and Darcy’s stomach clenched at the sight of him. 

She stood, frozen in the doorway, eyes locked on his and she knew in an instant that he knew where she had been.

“Thor…”

Whatever words she had planned were lost on her tongue when he unfolded his body gracefully. Her throat went dry and she decided in that moment that she would not defend herself. She knew what she had done and she made her peace with the idea that it would upset him, bother him, anger him.

Or she had tried to make her peace with it. It was a very different thing when face to face with the situation.

Fingers tightened on the cool metal frame and Darcy wet her lips, she painfully made her way closer to Thor and the fact that he didn’t leap to help, that he didn’t move at all, was worrying. Blood rushed in her ears but she got close enough to hand him the photograph.

He took it without even glancing down, his gaze solely locked on her.

“Steve thought you might like to have that,” Darcy told him, very words very quiet.

Finally, Thor tore his eyes from her and looked at what was now in his hands. Darcy watched as something cracked in his cool gaze and his eyes drank in the photo of him and Jane. His face crumpled slightly, like he was in great pain, and still he said nothing but his eyes flicked up and met hers once more.

It was then that Darcy realized that Thor was not just angry with her.

She had hurt him.

Deeply.

“Do you know what it is like to learn of your deception and not even be able to go out and see to it that you, the most precious thing to me, remain alive?” 

His voice was so soft. She had expected dark clouds, lighting, and peals of thunder; she had prepared for rage. Not this. 

Darcy’s shoulders hunched, but she insisted, “I didn’t lie to you.”

Thor’s gaze lifted to something behind her and without turning, she knew Steve had made his appearance. She knew because this time, Thor’s face did darken with barely restrained fury. He did not look at her as he spoke, but his voice became hard and unforgiving.

“Deception is not merely lying, Darcy.”

She got the distinct feeling that he was not speaking to her. Darcy didn’t want Steve to take the fall for this though, so she shifted on her feet, hissing in pain loud enough to draw back Thor’s attention.

It worked like magic.

“I’m not going to apologize for this,” she told him. “I’m sorry that I hurt you, but I am _not_ sorry I did it.”

“I am well aware,” the God of Thunder pointed at the dining table, his voice an edict. “Sit.”

She did what he asked, casting a nervous glance at Steve who stood coolly in the doorway, the shutter behind his eyes firmly shut, revealing nothing of his thoughts. Thor disappeared for a moment and returned with a large first aid kit and a towel. He set both to her right, opening the kit, revealing an array of medical supplies. It was much better stocked than the simple Walmart brand she and Jane and purchased. Then again, she was sure that a safe house used by the Avengers would require much more complex medical care.

Thor began pulling things out and she expected to see gauze, disinfectant, and large bandages like before. She had been right, but in addition to those, there was a small pair of very sharp looking scissors, a needle, and surgical thread.

Unease began to stir in Darcy’s stomach as she looked at the things Thor was preparing and then down at her right foot, seeing what Steve had said just moments before they came in the house.

Blood had seeped up to near to the top of her sock.

This was not going to be pretty.

There was a wooden screech as Thor pulled over a chair and placed it directly in front of her. Heart pounding, she lifted her leg into when Thor instructed and placed it on his thigh. Strong fingers deftly untied her shoe and then carefully eased it off. Darcy’s eyes narrowed in pain while Thor’s jaw clenched as he began the agonizingly slow removal of her bloody sock.

Out of the corner of her eye, Steve shifted, trying to see the damage for himself and she wished she could throw her shoe at him.

“You have reopened the largest wound,” Thor’s voice was expressionless but his eyes were not. They pinned her to the spot. “As I feared, it will now require stitches.”

Her mouth twisted, “Awesome.”

The process began with a brutal cleaning of her foot. If she had thought it hurt before, she had no idea. A shock of pain shot through her, the table thudding under her fist as she banged it against the wood out of reflex. Eyes watering, she breathed through her bared teeth with a sharp inhale. She felt Thor’s gaze flicker to her face and yet he continued. The god was almost detached as he worked, his hands thorough and clinical, not the gentle healer that Darcy had grown used 

Setting the hydrogen peroxide aside, he looked at her with a heavy, warning gaze.

“I will give you some pain medication to make this bearable.”

She braced herself, fingers curling into fists until her nails dug into the flesh of her palm. Thor did as he promised and injected a small dose of clear, numbing liquid into the area around the wound. Then the three of them waited the most awkward five minutes of her life for it to kick in. 

No one said a word and Thor all but ignored the presence of Steve.

She was instructed next to scoot back on the table so that her calf rested on the lip of it, propping her foot up a bit higher, and then he took the needle and thread and began pulling it through her skin.

The sensation that accompanied was odd, in part due to the numbing medication, but ultimately it was like she was being taken apart. There was an uncomfortable tugging and pulling as the needle passed through her skin and at one point, Darcy’s leg jerked out of her control.

“Sorry.”

Thor gave her leg a displeased look but said nothing. Two hands appeared from her other side, easily gripped her ankle and shin to hold her leg securely in place while Thor worked. Darcy’s head snapped up to Steve but his eyes were on the stitching process. She could tell by the grip alone that even if she tried with all of her might, there was no way her leg would budge until Thor was done.

It didn’t take much longer, but the silence in the room was nearly unbearable. When Thor finished, he rebandaged her foot and inspected the other. It, thankfully, did not require stitches but merely a fresh dressing.

Soon enough it was done and Thor rose to his feet. He washed her blood off of his hands in the sink and Darcy bit down hard on her lip.

“Are you angry with me?” she asked over the flow of water.

“What would you like for me to be?” Thor asked as he shut off the water and dried his hands with a towel. “Given the fact that I have provided you with safety and have only asked for _one thing_ in return and you cannot even give me that. What would you ask of me now? That I just let you go tempt Death further? To tease Her and see if She would finally take you?” He stared at her long and hard and finally shook his head. “No. I will not.”

Darcy had no response to that.

“You always think of yourself as nothing but I do not look at you so, _Jane_ never looked at you so. Only you.” Thor’s voice softened and he finished with a gentle, “Go rest. Your body needs it.”

She maneuvered herself off of the table and awkwardly landed on a partially numb foot. Strong hands gripped her upper arm and did wait for permission before sliding across her back and under her thighs, tilting her back and lifting her bridal style. Steve settled her in his arms, glancing down at her surprised expression.

“We had a deal,” he told her quietly, the first words he had spoken since entering the kitchen. “I’ll get you up to your room.”

Too exhausted to put up a fight, or even enjoy being hauled around for the second time that day by a specimen like Captain America, Darcy sighed and nodded without saying a word.

He turned to leave but Thor’s voice called out just as they made it to the doorway.

“Steven.”

They stilled and Steve tensed. Darcy could not see the look on Thor’s face. She did not need to. His voice told them both more than enough.

“I’ll be waiting in the training quarters when you return.”

* * *

Natasha was in the hallway, just outside of Clint’s room, watching their approach with a veiled expression. She didn’t seem surprised at all to see Steve carrying Darcy or the fresh bandages on both of her feet or even their sudden return that morning.

“You’ve spoken with Thor?” she asked as they drew closer.

Steve nodded firmly when Darcy didn’t answer but chose to lower her gaze to her hands, twisting her fingers together. He stopped outside of her door, facing Natasha and the former spy’s face gave absolutely nothing away. 

“We’re you successful?”

There was a beat of silence

“Yes,” Steve intoned and Darcy felt the deep vibration of his voice more than she heard it.

Silence fell and Darcy’s gaze lifted. Natasha was staring directly at her. The redhead’s eyes gleamed in something like triumph and a very small corner of her lips ticked upward. “ _Good_.”

* * *

Growing up in Brooklyn, his mother used to take him with her to mass every Sunday and, if she could wrangle him, she’d drag along a sulking Bucky, too. Steve enjoyed the quiet reverence of it all, the candles and the stained glass windows; it was something bigger than himself and for a small moment, he could be a part of it. There was a story he had heard while there and it always stuck with him; Jonah, the man who was swallowed by a giant fish. Steve wasn’t sure why he could never forget that story, but even now as he descended the stairs down into the basement gym, his mind equated it with crawling into the belly of a whale. 

Unlike Jonah, he hadn’t been thrown overboard. No, he had jumped willingly.

The hanging punching bags had been taken down and moved against the wall, clearing the area for sparring, like he and Thor were fond of. Given that they were in a basement, there was no windows for natural lighting, thus the room was coated in an aged yellow tone. Like an antique.

It had become routine for the two of them to work out their frustrations physically. What was not routine though was the appearance of Stormbreaker. Thor was carefully polishing the massive axe, wiping it down with precision.

The god’s rage was a palpable thing in the air around him, but as he approached Thor, Steve realized that his was, too. 

The difference though was that Steve’s rage was not directed at the other man. His rage had no target and it was burning him alive every waking second. Steve had been angry for so goddamn long, he didn’t know what it was like to _not_ feel that blistering in his blood.

It had become a part of him and Thor, in these days, had provided a fantastic outlet. Today was more than just an outlet though judging by the predatory focus Thor had on his axe.

The god wanted blood.

Steve wondered if Darcy had any idea what was about to happen. 

The sudden thought of her was like a wall of ice hitting him right in the face. This wasn’t about letting off some steam or working out his aggression. This was about Darcy; Darcy who would probably lose her shit if she were down here, Darcy who was as brave as she was spectacularly stupid (reminding him again and again of the younger Steve Rogers, the one who had ideals and faith and believed the best without question).

Blinking, because he had been _so ready_ , Steve stopped just short of Thor, blurting out.

“She’s more capable than you think.”

Thor’s hands stilled on his axe and slowly his eyes slid upwards. “It is not about what I think, Steven. Half of the entire universe was wiped out, you will excuse me for wanting to protect what is mine. I imagine you would do the same if _he_ were still here.”

“She is _not_ Bucky,” Steve spit out, his heart lurching. He hesitated, forcing his voice to remain calm and collected. “There’s a difference between protecting and smothering. Darcy had a good idea and it gave us something to work with,” Thor dropped the rag he had been using to wipe down his axe to the ground and his free hand clenched at his side. Steve pressed on, “We _found_ something, Thor. At this point, I don’t care who it is, if it can help us fight back, I’ll take it.”

The God of Thunder went very still.

“You would like to fight back?” he asked and there was no trace of the friend Steve had fought beside for all of these years now. Thor’s eyes began to glow and his voice was very low. “Then pick up your shields and we will have a fight.”

The tilt of the god’s head was the only warning Steve got.

With a roar, Thor swung the axe at his neck and if it were not for Steve’s enhanced abilities and reflexes, he would have been dead in the first second. Leaning back far enough that he used his left hand to keep from falling back onto the ground, Steve snapped back up and used the force of his momentum to kick Thor right in the center of his chest. For a regular human, the strength behind it would have sent them flying back into the wall, but Thor barely budged.

Steve curled his back sharply, flinging his arms out, lifting onto his toes as he avoided taking Thor’s axe to his stomach this time. Thor attacked with a ferocity that Steve had yet to see in this basement. He had no time to react in any other way than to simply dodge and avoid. He couldn’t strike back, not without a shield.

The two T’Challa had given him were hanging on the wall and were too far away for him to reach without losing a limb but Steve was slowly angling the fight that way, itching to get his hands on some form of protection.

Thor was a force of nature, every movement brutal and sharp and there was no mercy in the set of his body—his eyes were furious and fury was something Steve understood well.

Using a rage-filled swing to his advantage, Steve snapped his arm out and took hold of the hilt of the axe. He propelled himself over Thor’s head landing behind the god. There was a moment of surprise, a jolt, and Steve reached around Thor and took hold of the long handle with two hands. Swiftly he lifted his leg, boot pressing into Thor’s lower back and Steve pulled on the wood handle with all of his might using the weight of his body to assist.

Gritting his teeth and grunting, Steve muscled the axe’s hilt closer to Thor’s throat but he wasn’t prepared for the strength Thor would unleash.

With a force of power that, serum or not, Steve was no match for, Thor pushed back on the hilt and flung Steve back over his head, sending him flying across the room. He hit the wall with a bone-breaking smack.

Dazed, his mouth filled with blood and Steve’s eyes lifted to where his shields should be. His heart sank when he realized that they had somehow disappeared from their place on the wall during the time the fight had begun and now.

Then it hit him and he slammed his fists into the padded mat he was crumpled on in absolute frustration.

“ _GROOT, NO!_ ”

Across the room, the teenage tree clutched both of the Wakandan shields in his arms, sneaking out of the gym as silently as he had snuck in there. His unnaturally big eyes went even bigger at the anger laced tone. Groot dropped the shields instantly, as though they burned him.

“I am Groot?”

“I know you’re Groot,” Steve grouched, his muscles shaking with exertion, “but not right now. Every… goddamn… _time!_ ”

Groot crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Thor, appealing with a long, drawn out, “I am _Grooooot_.”

Thor was locked in place, the head of Stormbreaker facing the floor, hilt so loose in his grip, it looked as though it would slip out at the slightest breeze. He stared at the wall above Steve’s body, his face was very pale.

Steve twisted (his ribs rippled in pain) and saw the large dent his body had put in the wall. He gradually pulled himself back up to his feet, hand going automatically to his ribs, and the movement shook Thor out of his trance-like state. The look on Thor’s face was unreadable but he was clearly shaken.

“She’s smart, Thor,” Steve said, panting and walking towards the other man. “You can beat the shit out of me again if you want but I don’t regret taking her.”

“You did not even take the time to notice her wounds,” Thor murmured, almost too low for Steve to catch, but he did. Then Thor said, louder, “Because you were too caught up in your vigilante fantasy.”

Blinking at the accusation, Steve huffed out, “We’re all making sacrifices, Thor. That’s the only way we’re going to win—”

Thor turned then, very quickly for such a big man, throwing his arm out as he exploded, “ _THERE IS NO WINNING, STEVEN!_ ” The echoing silence after the blast rang in Steve’s ears louder than Thor’s voice. The words bit at his skin viciously and he _hated_ them. Thor continued, his eyes not leaving Steve’s, and his voice cracked with emotion. “Do you not understand? We lost. We _failed_. There is no second chance, there is no coming back from this and—” he stopped and inhaled and everything about the god grew bigger, his voice a growl, “And Darcy is not something I am willing to sacrifice. That was not your decision to make!”

Steve went very still but his eyes burned and all thoughts of the previous fight, the pain in his ribs, the boiling anger he carried as a part of him fled from his mind. The world disappeared and all that was left was the picture of a small woman with tear clouded eyes, begging him not to take her dignity from her.

_Please, Steve._

“You’re right,” Steve said and his voice was very quiet. His eyes locked onto Thor’s. “It wasn’t my decision… and it’s not yours either.” Thor opened his mouth and Steve’s voice became a knife’s edge. “It was _her choice_ , Thor. She wanted to go and I respect that. I wasn’t going to let anything happen to her if I could help it but I also wasn’t going to hold her back from doing her part.”

Thor was breathing hard and it wasn’t from the fight they had just had. The god’s jaw clenched and his eyes became very bright.

“I know you’ve lost nearly everything and I’m sorry,” Steve softened his voice because his friend looked as though he was about to break in a way that none of them would be able to put back together. “But if you do this to her—put her in a gilded cage… You’ll lose her but in a completely different way.”

Thor’s eyes closed and he swallowed wetly. Tears shone on his cheeks as his mask of strength vanished leaving behind a hollow shell of a person who had lost everything.

 _Almost_ everything.

“I cannot,” Thor gasped at last, dropping Stormbreaker to the ground with a heavy thud, and his eyes were desperate. “Steven, _I cannot_.”

Steve didn’t ask for him to explain, he merely stepped forward and gripped the back of Thor’s neck with a firm hand, pulling the god into his shoulder. Thor exhaled explosively and laid his forehead on Steve’s shoulder, fingers twisted in the material of Steve’s shirt as he held on for dear life and shook. Behind Thor, Groot approached with a devastated expression and wrapped himself around the back of the god, laying his wooden head against his spine.

They stayed like that for a long time and all Steve could bring himself to say over and over was—

“I know.”

* * *

“He’s awake.”

Ebony Maw’s head lifted from the book he had been reading. His eyes widened slightly and he carefully marked the page and set the book aside. The servant was wild-eyed and jittery and that was not a good sign.

“Take me to him.” 

Rising to his feet gracefully, Ebony Maw moved like a ghost as he trailed behind the young servant to the regeneration chamber. As they approached, there were no screams of terror, no cries of pain, and he allowed a small sliver of hope to flit in his chest.

He entered behind the servant, thin, reptilian eyes landing immediately on the rousing Titan. The side of Thanos’ body was still burned but the wounds did not look as raw or dire as they had days before. He was sitting, his hulking body curled while he stared down at his empty hands. At their entry, Thanos lifted his head.

“Where is it?” 

His voice was made of smoke and blood, if such things had a sound. Ebony Maw walked closer, lifting his hand in worry, “My Lord, how are you farin—”

“Where is it?” Thanos asked again and there was a warning laced through the words. 

Ebony Maw’s eyes tightened as he inhaled, choosing his words with precision. “The gauntlet was removed so that you could enter the regeneration chamber and properly heal. I have it stored safely.”

Thanos did not say a word but the look he leveled on Ebony Maw was enough for the creature to back out of the room slowly.

“I will fetch it for you now.”

* * *

Darcy’s head turned just as her door crept open. She had yet to fall asleep, staring aimlessly out the small window, her heart hurting more than she would like to admit. Plus, if she slept through the day once again, her sleep pattern was going to be seriously off track.

On the other side of the door, Thor went still, those ancient eyes locked on hers in a silent ask of permission. Her lips curled in a sad smile and Thor stepped further in, shutting the door behind him with a soft _click_.

His hands were behind his back, still curled around the door knob, and he leaned against them. His voice was very quiet, “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Darcy shook her head, curls brushing against her cheek. “I was already up.”

Thor nodded, his brows pulled low, like he was thinking very hard of what to say, and finally—“Are you hungry?”

Something about the tone he used was very boyish, like a much younger version of Thor—one that Darcy never had the privilege of knowing. Her lips curved slightly.

“Yeah.”

The god stepped further into her room, approaching her bed with caution, giving her plenty of opportunity to object.

She did not.

“Darcy,” Thor said her name and it was like a weight falling into ocean; it sank in the space between them as he settled himself on the edge of her small bed.

Thor seemed so cautious, so unsure, so very much not like himself and it made Darcy’s throat burn. She didn’t want things to be drawn and awkward between them, she didn’t want to be the reason for it; she _needed_ Thor. 

Her face contorted with emotion and she bodily scooted closer to Thor before asking in a very small voice, “Can I have a hug?”

A breath rushed from the big man’s chest and he twisted at the waist, pulling Darcy into his lap. Large arms wrapped securely around her and he tucked her head under his chin. The room seemed to sigh in relief with them. Darcy clung to him, her fingers grabbing onto his shoulder as she buried her face in his stubble-ridden, scratchy throat. She didn’t care that his whiskers poked her skin, all she felt was the peace and love and comfort and _home_ that was Thor.

“The world sucks,” Darcy said after a long time of simply being held, her voice muffled against his skin.

“It does indeed,” Thor agreed. He then leaned back, tipping his head down to catch her gaze. Sincerity shone through his eyes and his face contorted with some unspoken emotion. “I wanted to thank you.” 

Darcy just looked at him, mouth dropping open in confusion as she shook her head.

Thor continued quietly. “Steven told me of your findings… You had more courage than I and I may not like it, but Darcy? I am willing to try.” Thor’s gaze dropped to her injured feet and his eyes narrowed slightly before lifting back up to hers. “However, the next time you choose to do something like this, please do not hide it from me. I will go with you.”

“Thank you, Thor,” Darcy told him and she tried to let as much conviction as she had within her body bleed through her tone. Wetting her lips, she inhaled, “I never meant to purposefully hurt you but I also admit that I didn’t give it much thought. Will you forgive me?”

A soft smile that was more in his eyes than anywhere else graced the god’s face. “It is already done.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. When he pulled back, he was nodding, “I would ask for your forgiveness as well.”

“We’re good.”

And they were.

Darcy’s chest loosened even as Thor’s arms tightened around her and for the first time in days, things felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK AT MY BABIES TALKING ABOUT THEIR FEELINGS AND WORKING SHIT OUT.
> 
> Thank you to all of you sexy beasts for your fun comments, all of the time you take to read, kudo, bookmark, subscribe, etc. I hope you are enjoying yourself as much as I am. Don’t forget to check out the [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) for fun sneak peeks and manips.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -sounds alarm- Prepare yourselves for some serious Steve and Darcy interactions ahead. Also, this chapter frustrated the crap out of me. Ugh.

The next morning Darcy was sitting in the kitchen (courtesy of a piggy back ride from Thor) drinking a cup of coffee when a gun was set on the table next to her. She stared at it in wide-eyed shock and then looked up, her mouth falling open.

“If you are going to leave this safe house again, you’re going to need that.” Natasha Romanoff told her in a tone that was completely expressionless. 

Darcy's eyes slid to the gun like it was a snake and she swallowed, setting her mug of coffee down carefully. “I’d rather not.”

“I wasn’t asking,” Natasha told her, lifting one brow.

“Well, I won’t use it.” 

The former Russian spy looked as though she had never had someone outright refuse an offer of a weapon before and had to recalculate her approach. Darcy tried not to shift under the weight of the other woman’s eyes.

“I could teach you,” Natasha pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing one elegant leg over the other. Her offer was genuine, it glinted in her eyes with the morning sun, and Darcy got the distinct impression that this was very important to Natasha.

Which made it worse when the dark haired woman shook her head, lips twisting.

“It won’t do any good. I—I’m not like you or any other kickass women in the Avenging business. It’s not that I don’t have the skill or coordination, which, by the way, _I really don’t_ , but…” Darcy paused, wracking her mind for the words. Coming up blank, she lifted one shoulder in a light shrug, “Violence just isn’t in me.”

“Then why do you have a taser?”

Darcy took a moment for herself and sipped at her coffee. The Black Widow searched her face. The other woman’s expression was cold and recluse at first glance, but her eyes told a different story; Natasha was curious, her question genuine.

“Because people still wake up from taser injuries,” Darcy gave the other woman a tight smile, “and I’m a female in a world where men believe they have the power over my body, so, even though I don’t want to kill them, I do want to be able to make someone _back the fuck up_ if and when I need to.”

Natasha was quiet for a few moments and the two of them just watched each other from opposite sides of a deep ravine.

“Things have changed,” the former Russian spy said, finally, and the words hit like a gavel. “A taser won’t cut it in this world.”

Darcy’s brows pulled together, lifting in the middle. Her eyes lowered to the handle of the gun and her decision solidified. “It’s going to have to.”

The chair scraped on the kitchen floor and Natasha stood suddenly. She reached for the gun and then paused, brushing her finger along the smooth barrel; the touch of a lover. Muted green eyes flicked up and locked on Darcy.

“Think about it.”

Natasha did not take the gun with her.

* * *

The rest of the day was relatively calm; as calm as things had been since Darcy’s world went to hell. Bruce had come down after checking in on Clint (who was still laid up in his room and was apparently becoming a more belligerent patient by the second, bless Bruce and Thor) and asked for Darcy’s assistance in understanding the _TeleThor’s_ workings. They spent the majority of the late morning ramping the machine up and testing it out in the open living room. The machine seemed to automatically search for signals and could obviously receive messages, but it was a mystery as to how the sending out of an SOS might work.

Darcy didn’t feel like much help, given that she didn’t truly understand the technical terms or the physics of it all, but she tried her best to channel her inner Jane. Bruce was very patient; he gently explained things as they explored and Darcy felt like she was back in college with one of her favorite professors. It was nice. She kept them sustained with handfuls of Skittles (a jumbo bag she had brought from the townhouse in Boston). Neither of them said anything about the fact that though he had been hesitant to take them at first, after about an hour Bruce had eaten the majority of the fruity candies. 

Right around lunch time Steve emerged from the gym basement, Groot trailing behind him like an adoring puppy. Darcy was banging the _TeleThor_ on the table with gusto, much to Bruce’s horror, and she paused at the pair’s arrival.

Her lips curved in a friendly grin and she waggled the _TeleThor_ happily in greeting. Steve appeared a little baffled and a little amused at the same time, like his face couldn’t decide on which expression to settle on so it chose somewhere in between the two. It was adorable, really.

Bruce carefully removed the _TeleThor_ from her grip.

“Hey Muscles,” she chirped, “good workout?” 

This time, Steve did smile and Darcy’s heart stuttered unintentionally at the sight. God _damn_ he was a good looking man. No one should look that good in sweaty gym clothes but Steve Rogers did with his dumb, disheveled, _yankable_ hair. Not to mention the way his damp shirt clung to the clear definition of his abs.

Steve nodded in answer to her question, and Darcy’s leg jiggled, suddenly nervous and unsure what to say. She bit her lip, leaning back in her chair, glancing around him expectantly. “Where’s Thor?”

“He’s cleaning up,” Steve said easily and it was then that she noticed the gun dangling in his hand. He held it carefully, keeping it facing downward. “Did you leave this in the kitchen?”

Darcy went very still, looking away from Steve’s questioning gaze, and to her right, Bruce glanced up in interest.

“That’s not mine.”

Steve frowned when she offered no further explanation. “Well, whoever it belongs to, we can’t just leave it lying around for Groot to find.”

Darcy slanted a look at Groot who, for all appearances, seemed to have zero clue as to what was even going on. She wasn’t sure just how much the sentient tree was able to comprehend. However, given that he had tried to eat her hair, she figured that it was best to think of Groot as equivalent to a kindergartener when it came to these things, just to be on the safe side.

Humming non-committedly, Darcy snagged a handful of Skittles (‘Skootles’ as Thor would call them) and popped them in her mouth all at once; a convenient escape from having to respond that she had learned years ago. The clacking sound they made against her teeth caught Groot’s attention immediately and he wandered over like a cat to a laser pointer.

Darcy watched him amusedly and snagged the dwindling bag, holding it up. She stuffed her mouthful of skittles into a big wad in her cheek, “Woo ‘ou wike won, Groo’?”

Groot’s oversize brown eyes looked unblinkingly at the bag, then at her, then at the bag, and once more at her. Slowly he held out a wooden palm and the small, green leaves poking out from his arms trembled with excitement, like they were blowing in an imaginary wind.

Grinning at his enthusiasm, Darcy dropped three perfect candies into his palm.

“He’ll get cavities,” Bruce warned absently as he ducked under the radio telescope, staring at a grouping of wires.

“Does he even have teeth?” Steve asked as the same time Darcy said, “I think you’re just jealous because Skittles are your favorite.”

Bruce stilled and glanced over at the three of them, his cheeks tinted pink. He mumbled out, “They’re Hulk’s favorite.”

There was a sudden gasping noise and Darcy whirled around to Groot, afraid that he was choking. He wasn’t, thankfully. No, Groot’s small mouth was dropped open in unabashed amazement and his whole body shook hard once, like he had been struck by a great force (of sugar). Darcy yelped when he snatched the bag of skittles off of the table, spilling half of them onto the floor.

Groot turned quickly to flee with his prize but Steve was faster. He tucked the gun away in the back of his pants and took the bag right back out of the tree’s hands. Groot whipped around with a fierce scowl but Steve pointed a finger in his face.

“Hey!” Steve raised his voice and Darcy jerked in her seat at the volume.“ _Manners_.”

Mouth twisting in a glower, Groot muttered out a rude sounding, “ _I am Groot_.” 

Darcy’s brows shot to her hairline (even though she had no fucking clue as to what he said, seriously, what _was_ her life?). It must have been bad because it got Captain America to narrow his eyes dangerously. 

Groot buckled under the lengthy glare, scuffing his wooden foot against the ground, sending a few stray skittles clattering across the floor. “I am Groot…” he tried to reason with all the pouty attitude his vine-ridden body could hold. Steve did not relent though and _Darcy_ started to feel guilty even though _she_ hadn’t spilled the Skittles. Finally, the sentient tree turned to Darcy looking absolutely pitiful. He stared at the ground and whispered a very small, “I _am_ Groot.”

Satisfied, Steve straightened and nodded.

When he turned back to Darcy, she was blinking at him stupidly. “I… don’t know what just happened,” she said very slowly, and then after a moment, addressed Groot, “Thank you, Groot? I’m happy to share but sharing means we leave enough for Bruce. We want Hulk to be our friend. You with me, dude?” She held up a fist bump for the tree and Groot very carefully mimicked her movement, touching his small fist to hers. 

Darcy beamed at him and gave him another couple of Skittles. Groot lit up like a Christmas tree and happily munched away before wandering off to collect every spilled Skittle off of the floor, popping them in his mouth one at a time reminding Darcy of a chicken scouring the ground for food. 

She ignored the way Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“That will teach him nothing.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason why I’m never the mom-friend of the group,” Darcy scrunched her nose up at him. “I’m the fun aunt who lets you get away with shit and shows up to all of the family reunions tipsy but with _fabulous_ stories of my exotic travels and lovers.”

For the second time since she had met him, Steve almost bashfully turned his face to the ground as a soft (and unsure?) chuckle bubbled up in his chest. He grabbed at the back of his neck and his eyes were shining when he looked up and opened his mouth—

“Steve?” Bruce’s voice cut off whatever Steve might have said and both of them whirled around to the scientist. He was holding the pager they had found, inspecting it closely. “You said this was Fury’s?”

Steve inhaled deeply and walked over, shifting seamlessly into his role as Captain America. It was amazing, really, how quickly he could put on the mask, so-to-speak. His back straightened; everything about him stringing tight and unyielding.

“We can’t be sure, but yes, I think so,” Steve was saying in his no-nonsense voice.

“I’ve never seen this symbol before,” Bruce tapped his finger on the small screen with a shake of his head. “And the modifications on this… it’s also not technology that I’ve seen before,” he paused, his words very quiet, “not even with Tony.”

Steve frowned, staring at the pager in a new light. “Is it something to be concerned about?”

“Hard to say—it’s Fury we are talking about here. It’s definitely an SOS but we don’t know who it’s calling… Whoever it is, given the strength of this signal, I think it’s safe to say that they aren’t here on earth.”

The room fell silent at that and Steve’s hands went to his hips, eyes dropping to the floor, clearly thinking hard. After a moment, he lifted his head, lips pressing together in a hard line.

“Nat or Clint might recognize the symbol. They’ve both been with SHIELD longer than any of us. I can take it to them and ask.”

Bruce handed him the device without question and Steve took it, turning to head up the stairs to, Darcy assumed, Clint’s room. It was right about that time that Thor’s voice bellowed out through the safe house like an avalanche.

“ _Argh!_ _Who gave Tree Skootles?_ ”

Pausing, one foot on the step, Steve glanced over his shoulder and gave Darcy a _look_ , lifting his brows with no small amount of sass, “That’s on you, _fun_ _aunt_.”

Darcy sunk low in her seat with an exaggerated grimace.

She didn’t miss the way Steve laughed as he jogged up the stairs and neither did Bruce by the way he looked at her afterwards.

* * *

The ship had planted itself firmly in the heart of the city. It was one of the few open areas of this desolate place where the human constructs were not polluting the view of the sky. There might have been a time when this place was crawling with people amongst the swaying trees and green plant life, but there had not been a sign or sight of the beings since their arrival. They had scattered to the wind, like animals do when a predator is near.

The city was rank with the stench of fear and it was not a pleasant thing.

Ebony Maw watched from the shadows as the rest of the Black Order returned to the ship, silent as wraiths. He schooled his features, clasping his hands behind his back, slowly stepping out and meeting them at the entrance.

“I take it by your empty hands that you were not successful?”

They stilled at the softly spoken accusation and Corvus Glaive snarled, biting out, “There was one—”

“But you let them escape?”

Ebony Maw waited and when no one answered, Proxima Midnight stepped forward, shifting her spear to her other hand, lips turning downward. “Tracking them down in this cesspool is impossible. Before we tracked the stones they held, not them alone.”

“Perhaps your methods simply need improvement—”

“Do you not know by now how to draw out the humans?” Ebony Maw’s eyes widened a fraction at the voice, his blood turning to ice in his veins, and the rest of the Black Order lifted their gazes to the weighty presence just over his shoulder. Ebony Maw slowly turned and met Thanos’ dark eyes. “They are all the same,” Thanos continued and turned his gaze to the city. “ _Fear_. You find out what the humans are afraid of and they’ll do almost anything you want.”

Quiet.

Ebony Maw swallowed, his throat very dry. “And what do the Avengers fear, my Lord?”

Thanos smiled and it was not a kind thing.

* * *

“Thor,” Darcy said suddenly, her eyes staring blankly at her bedroom wall, not really seeing anything, “is something wrong with me?”

The god’s eyes snapped up from his inspection of her stitches and locked on her. He had carried her up to her room after dinner and insisted that he check his work to see how it was faring. Darcy had felt docile enough to let him without too much of a fuss. 

“What do you mean, Darcy?” He asked, carefully lowering her foot back to the ground. “Who told you such a thing?”

“No one,” Darcy shrugged, twisting her fingers in her lap. 

She hadn’t planned on actually voicing the question, but it had been in her head all day (and if she was truthful, it had been buried deep in her heart for much longer than that; like a thorn). Now that it was out, floating in the air between them, Darcy regretted asking it sharply.

“Then why would you think such a thing?” Thor’s voice was very gentle and he reached for her hands. Darcy’s pulse jumped in her throat.

“Never mind, forget I said anything—”

“ _Darcy_.”

Her name dropped from his lips like a finger under her chin and her eyes lifted without meaning to. Thor’s gaze was gentle and piercing at the same time; ancient orbs that had traveled through light and time. He swept his thumbs over the back of her hands and she swallowed feeling like he was a knight of old and she was some fair lady. Except she was anything but.

Thor’s eyes darted between both of hers, brows pinching together, and he inhaled slowly, “I do not know the thing that is in your mind, but it is not true. You are deeply cherished. Even,” he ducked his head, holding her gaze with a small smirk, “when you frustrate me into pulling my hair from my head—as all younger siblings usually do.”

A breathy laugh escaped her at that and Thor looked immensely pleased. He still did not let go of her hands.

“I will not force you to speak now,” he said, finally, after a long silence, “but I would hope you—”

“Natasha tried to give me a gun earlier.” Darcy said suddenly and her words were very fast, like water from a fountain, they poured out. Thor’s eyes widened comically at her admission and she scrunched her nose, dropping her chin to her chest. “I _know_ , she didn’t know what she was doing, but I told her I didn’t want one and I _don’t_. The idea of killing another person, even if only to save myself or someone else, makes me physically ill. But—but you all make that choice all the time and you’re _heroes_. I feel like… I don’t know,” her throat grew tight and she worked hard to keep the words flowing coherently. “Am I wrong for not being able to do the same? Am I making this more difficult for you all—giving you just one more thing to worry about when you have so much else going on? Does it make me a liability? Should I—”

“Peace, Darcy,” Thor rumbled while lifting one hand. She stopped spewing out the questions and sucked in a bracing breath. He looked down at her hands wrapped up in his and they almost looked like a child’s in comparison. The God of Thunder smiled and it was a tender, close-lipped thing. “First, you are not just a _thing_ and I will always worry about you. Second, it is true; you are not like the rest of us. We are too often eager to spill blood, to take a life—something that is so _sacred_. There are too few like you, sister of my heart. It is nothing to be ashamed of,” Thor stopped and looked her right in the eye, his heart laid bare, looking for all the world like he wanted to slay whatever creature had taken residence in her mind, conjuring such thoughts. “ _You_ are nothing to be ashamed of.”

And for a moment, Darcy could _breathe_.

* * *

That night the stars were hidden.

The artificial lights of the city cast too bright a glow for any true light radiance to shine. But the moon was there and Darcy’s blinds were open inviting the tendrils of moonlight to stretch across her room and touch her cheek as she lay in bed. It was enough to bring her comfort and a sense of her friend.

This time, as she thought of Jane, there were no tears.

That didn’t mean the tears were over and done, but for tonight there was a rest from it all. Thor’s words echoed in her mind, bouncing off of the walls, trying to find a place to rest and make their home. It made sleep difficult to find. He had stayed with her through three games of solitaire war before his eyes began to droop. Darcy had sent a sleepy Thor off to bed with a smile and assurance that she would be fine. And she would have been, if she could actually fall asleep.

Tossing back the covers, Darcy sat up, planting her feet on the cool floor. She stood carefully, curling her right foot upwards, walking on her heel, so the stitches under her toes wouldn’t be disturbed as she made her way out into the hallway and haltingly down the stairs to the kitchen.

But someone was already there.

It was the only room in the house with the light on and she cautiously approached (as cautiously as one who was hobbling around could). Peeking around the corner, she caught the unmistakable outline of Steve sitting at the table. His back was to the entrance but his head was turned sideways, displaying the strong profile of his face as he eyed who the late night visitor was. Darcy hesitated, wondering if she should turn back, but he already knew she was there and all she needed was one thing and then she could be on her way.

She didn’t look at him as she entered, going straight for the pot of coffee on the counter near the fridge. Eyes tracked her the entire way and then—

“Are you supposed to be up and walking?”

Squinting, Darcy pressed her lips together and stared hard at the cabinet in front of her. Eventually she rolled her head around to look at Steve. “I’ve been hauled around by Thor all day, let me use my legs before the muscles atrophy.” She didn’t wait for his response before turning back to the coffee maker, noticing that a certain someone had already beat her by making a pot. There wasn’t much left in it, but desperate times called for desperate measures and coffee was a comfort drink to her more than anything else. She consumed enough of it that the caffeine had zero effect on her now, no matter what time of day she drank it. Pointing at it, she lifted her brows, “Do you mind if I…?”

“Go ahead,” Steve told her and that’s when she noticed he had a sketch pad resting in his lap.

The temptation to look and see what he was working on was strong, but from the careful angle Steve was holding it, she could tell he wasn’t open to the idea. Instead, Darcy poured what was left of the coffee into a plain white mug and dug around in the pantry for the icky powdered creamer (she could not _wait_ until they got the liquid gold once more). 

“Can’t sleep?” Darcy paused her serious stirring in of the creamer and lifted her head. The sketch pad was now closed and sitting on the table, pencil resting on top of it. Steve stared at her expectantly. Dark smudges of graphite covered the tips of his fingers, like he had gone to get fingerprinted and never cleaned off the ink, and the sight of it made her smile a little.

“Nope,” she said lightly. “But that’s okay, it happens every now and then.”

A pause and then—

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“Double negative. Just a lot on my mind, I guess,” she leaned her hip against the counter, lifting the mug and wrapping her fingers around it for warmth. She eyed the man at the table curiously, “What about you?”

Steve slowly shook his head, simply saying, “I don’t sleep much these days.”

“That can’t be good for you.”

“Probably not,” he admitted with a wry grin. 

Darcy sipped at her coffee, observing him over the brim of her mug. He was dressed in what she guessed were pajamas, if track pants and a plain white t-shirt could be considered such; shadows lined his blue eyes. Steve wasn’t tense but at the same time nothing about the man was relaxed. He was on edge, like a runner at the start line—every line and curve of his body waiting for the word _go_.

It had to be exhausting living like that.

“How are you, Steve?” Darcy asked, her voice soft as she lowered the warm mug. His eyes flashed to hers, surprise coloring his face and Darcy hurt for him. No one should have a look like that on their face when someone simply asks how they are doing. Sighing softly, Darcy continued, “I realized I’ve never really asked you that and I’m sorry. We kind of jumped right into things. I never even asked if you lost anyone.”

Whatever she said, it must have been the wrong thing because the shutters behind Steve’s eyes slammed shut so fast that it made Darcy go very still. Cold crept across her skin, seizing her heart in her very chest.

Steve’s face was expressionless, his voice guarded as his voice dropped low, “We all lost someone in the snap.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” She asked and it wasn’t really a question. Steve looked ready to bolt and something inside of Darcy whispered urgently for her to tread very carefully. But she had never been one to have very good instincts and so the words jumped out of her mouth before her brain could snag them and drag them back into her throat. “Who did you lose?”

Steve just stared at her and there was pain there in his gaze but there was also an iciness, so cold that it burned her skin in its wake. He said nothing and, in a moment of clarity, Darcy curled in on herself feeling utterly stupid. What was she thinking? She didn’t know Steve Rogers—not really. She had no business asking him this kind of shit.

Panicked bubbled in her blood and it left a bad taste in her mouth.

“I’m going to go now,” Darcy said aloud and began hobbling mostly on one foot to the exit, her heart pounding in her chest. Steve made no move to stop her, in fact, he didn’t move at all. Before she left, she mumbled out a soft but heartfelt, “I’m sorry if that was too personal, sometimes I just don’t think—”

“His name was Bucky.”

Darcy’s mouth snapped shut with an audible _click_. 

Steve still hadn’t turned to look at her, but she saw his big shoulders rise as he inhaled. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

There was a long moment of silence and then like a glacier falling into a clear northern sea, Steve turned and looked at her. His eyes were very bright and his jaw was clenched, like he was working very hard at holding back some hurricane of emotion. Darcy’s feet moved out of their own accord back into the kitchen, his gaze trailing her the entire way. 

She pointed at the chair beside him, “May I?” Steve hesitated a second and then nodded, silently. She set her mug down on the table and used it to brace herself as she carefully lowered down to the wooden chair. Sucking in a deep breath, Darcy gave him a small, inviting smile. He did not return it. Her voice, when she spoke, was very quiet. “Tell me about him.”

“Everyone who went to school and studied history knows about him.”

“True,” Darcy nodded slowly, “I am a bit of a history nerd myself, but even I know that history books and reality are often two different things. I want to know Bucky, not James Buchanan Barnes.”

Steve’s eyes were measuring and he reached for his mug, gripping it by the body, not the handle, and gulped down the last of his coffee in one bracing swig. He wiped at his lips when he was done, running his fingers down his beard to rub at his jaw. Darcy wasn’t sure he was going to say anything else when suddenly he leaned back in his seat and locked eyes with her.

Steve’s gaze was a physical thing, like wearing a weighted vest strapped to her body, she was pinned in place.

“We grew up together in Brooklyn,” Steve began, voice very matter of fact. “His mother helped mine through her pregnancy since they lived in the same neighborhood. My father wasn’t around much and when he was you wished he wasn’t, so Mrs. Barnes stepped up to the plate.” Darcy didn’t say anything about the endearing fact that Steve still called Bucky’s mother ‘Mrs. Barnes’ but her lips curled gently. Steve eyed her for a moment and then continued, “They used to say Buck and I were born friends. Either one of us ever got in trouble, the other was always there to get them out.”

“I bet you two were rascals.”

The wrinkled around Steve’s eyes deepened in a smile though his lips did not curl and something like triumph surged through Darcy’s veins. “That was more Buck than me. I was too well behaved.”

Darcy snorted. “I don’t believe that bullshit for a goddamn second.”

A beat of silence.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a hell of a mouth on you?”

“Uh huh,” Darcy nodded immediately, propping an elbow on the table, putting her chin in her hand. “Does it bother you?”

“It actually reminds me of Bucky a bit,” Steve gave her a fond look. “He was always a smooth talker but had a mouth that I swear to God was built for sin,” Darcy lifted an interested eyebrow at that sentence and smirked. Steve opened his mouth and then paused, eyes dropping to the sketch book, giving it a considering look. Finally, his gaze flicked back up and there was a softness there that Darcy had yet to see. “Bucky’s a part of me, always has been, always will be whether he’s here or not. I… I miss him.”

“Sounds like he was really important to you,” Darcy’s voice was very soft.

Steve watched her for a long time, his gaze measuring and searching, for what, she didn’t know, but then he opened his mouth and—

“I loved him.”

The admission fell between the two of them and Darcy felt a rushing sense of compassion as she suddenly understood the Captain’s hesitation, his guardedness. She held herself very still under Steve’s observation but she couldn’t help the soft, sad noise that gathered in her throat.

“To the end of the line,” Steve murmured more to himself than anything else. His eyes flicked up at Darcy’s furrowed brow and he clarified. “Bucky and I have this thing, this saying, ‘I’m with you to the end of the line.’ It’s… it’s the closest thing we could have to a vow back then. Every time we said it, what we were really promising one another was: till death do us part,” Steve’s voice trailed off, sounding far away.

Darcy nodded, her heart clenching for the man in front of her. She looked down at her nearly empty mug. “That’s really beautiful... but also sad, if that makes sense. Sad that you had to hide or put up a front—”

“Put up a front?” 

Her eyes flashed up to Steve’s and she shrugged uncomfortably. “I mean, I assume that the whole thing with Peggy Carter was a cover since things back then were a little more than hostile to the idea that two men could love each other?”

Steve looked at her for a minute and then he ran his tongue over his teeth.

“Peggy wasn’t a cover,” he said, simply. Then wet his lips, his gaze clear and bright and so goddamn honest. “I loved her, too, Darcy.”

“Oh.”

A small smirk. “Yeah, Bucky and I have both always been that way. The stories about him and his reputation weren’t exaggerating. That is one area history got right. We both enjoy women but also… each other.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Darcy repeated and Steve outright grinned at her and it was a touch on the wicked side.

“You’re saying that a lot tonight.”

“Yeah well…” she didn’t know how to respond so she settled for a very mature, “shut up.” Darcy finished off her coffee, smiling down into the mug as she swallowed it down.

Steve’s responding laugh was quiet but true and it lifted the heaviness surrounding them.

“It still takes some getting used to,” Steve cleared his throat. “Being more open about me and Bucky. The team knows, I’m pretty sure some of the Howlies knew but… I don’t tell many others.” He stopped and then frowned a little,” I don’t have many others _to_ tell.”

Darcy would have reached for his hand if it was anywhere near her. She settled for conveying the action with her eyes. “Well, thank you for sharing with me. It takes a lot of courage.” She meant it and Steve gave her a small, tight smile.

“What about you?” Her eyes went wide at his question and Steve settled deeper into his seat. He gestured with his hand, “Tell me about Jane.”

“Oh!”

He grinned, eyes crinkling happily as he teased, “ _Oh_.”

Darcy gave him a mock glare and rolled her eyes. Her fingers wrapped around the mug and drummed a quick pattern on it, thinking of how to begin. “Jane abducted me from my boring life that would have ended up with me stuck in an office pushing papers for some overbearing corporate boss,” she rushed out and then blushed. Steve, however, was waiting patiently, his expression the most open she had seen it since she had met the man. It gave her courage. “I’ve never been great at things, or particularly gifted or talented, you know?” She spoke with her hands. Darcy had always done that, when she told stories it was never with words alone. Steve tilted his head. “I was always just average. That’s kind of my jam. Then my internship with Jane came along and she… it was a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“Yeah, I technically wasn’t supposed to be her intern, there was some screw up with the paperwork and she had already accepted me by the time I realized it. I didn’t even tell her that I was a PoliSci major until I got to New Mexico. I know, it’s awful of me, but I just… I needed to get out. Jane was surprised, but she—she didn’t look at me like I was stupid, you know? Even though I had no idea about anything involving her work. She made me feel like I had a purpose, like I was useful.”

“You seem pretty useful to me,” Steve told her. When Darcy’s eyes flicked up to his, he continued, “Couldn’t have found Fury’s pager if it wasn’t for you. Plus, even if we did, I would probably be bleeding out in those streets if you hadn’t of…”

“Had a horrific case of word vomit?”

Steve looked a little grossed out at that description but he nodded. “Whatever it was, it worked.”

Darcy hummed. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it was the _TeleThor_ that helped, not me.”

“It’s not sentiment,” Steve crossed his arms over his wide chest, lifting one brow. “And I’m sticking with the fact that it was you who got the _TeleThor_ and as a result the pager.”

The way he was looking at her reminded her all too much of her conversation with Thor, which was the whole reason why she couldn’t sleep in the first place. Darcy wasn’t ready to jump back into that wound, so she mock saluted, “Aye aye, Captain.”

The flat look Steve sent her had her grimacing.

“ _So!_ Jane. Jane is… she’s the best friend I could ever ask for and through her, I also gained Thor, too,” Darcy smiled softly at the thought of the God of Thunder. “We’re a little family unit, you know?”

“You have a fella?” Steve asked and Darcy’s heart thumped in her chest. She started and stared and he took her hesitation to mean something else and added quickly, “Or a lady?”

Darcy opened her mouth and then closed it with a shy sort of grin. “I swing towards men for the most part,” she admitted and Steve nodded but then Darcy tilted her head to the ceiling thoughtfully. “Although maybe I should try switching teams because I have god-awful luck with relationships… I could _totally_ go for Pepper Potts.”

“Don’t tell Tony,” Steve said with a small laugh, “he might like the idea.”

They both looked at each other, smiling, and the kitchen fell into a quiet sort of peace. Darcy watched the moment Steve’s eyes (happy half-moons) flitted discreetly over her body and she pressed her tongue against her teeth _hard_.

“Why do you think you have bad luck with men?”

“I don’t,” Darcy admitted and Steve’s brows pinched. She cleared her throat, “I said I have bad luck with _relationships_. It’s the keeping them around that I can’t seem to do. They just… always find someone who meets their standard better than I do.”

She said the last part in a huff of air, her eyes dropped to the mug her fingers were wrapped around. It had long gone cold. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“There,” she chirped overly bright, “now we’ve both shared vulnerable things. You know, I think we might actually be friends, Steve.”

He was quiet for a second. “Well you’re a good friend to have, Darcy,” Steve said lowly and conviction laced every word. “I’m a lucky man.” 

“That makes two of us,” Darcy replied and then blinked, “except that I’m not a man. Or lucky. But I’m lucky to have you… as a friend?” Her cheeks were bright red by the time she was done, bleeding down her neck and into her chest. Groaning, she buried her face in her palm. “Ignore me.”

“I don’t think I can,” Steve admitted in a low laugh. After a moment when his chuckling had died down, Steve shifted in his seat, the wood creaking beneath his weight, and Darcy looked up at him expectantly. Violently blue eyes locked on her, “Do you mind if I ask why won’t you take the gun? Or even let Natasha teach you how to use it?”

“She told you?” Darcy asked, though she clearly didn’t need to. Wiping a heavy hand over her face, she sighed out, “Have you heard of a conscientious objector?”

“Of course.”

Darcy nodded, her throat tightening. “Then consider me one of those.”

“Why?” Steve asked and there was no malice or judgment there.

“There was a man in World War Two, his name was Desmond Doss—sound familiar to you?” When Steve shook his head no, Darcy continued, “He might have been after your time. Well, he signed up to join the army after the attack on Pearl Harbor but he didn’t join because he wanted to fight, he joined because he wanted to be a medic. Desmond had this crazy firm belief that he would never kill a man, let alone even touch a gun. To him, it was… it was just wrong. He was treated pretty horribly by his commanding officers and the rest of the men because they didn’t understand. They called him a coward and harassed him and all of these things,” she glanced at Steve as she spoke and saw he was listening very intently. “Eventually Desmond went into battle, right alongside the others, without a single weapon on him. Then one night, when the battle was at its worst and bloodiest, while all the other men ran for cover, he stayed behind, weaponless, and pulled injured from the battlefield until his hands turned raw. He ended up saving around _seventy-five_ men by himself, some of them even his enemy,” Darcy paused, one corner of her lips curling. “I bet you would have liked him.”

“He sounds incredible," Steve said, sitting back in his chair.

“He was,” Darcy nodded. “I am in no way saying I am _anything_ like him or even make the choices I make because I have his beliefs. The only reason why I bring him up is because it’s an example. I think—I think he understood something important,” her eyes slid up to meet Steve’s and her heart bled into her words. “You can save lives without having to ever take one in return. I _want_ to help, I don’t know how I can help, but I know that I don’t want to hurt others in the process. Does that make sense?”

He didn’t say anything for a bit and his eyes were so very blue. “It does. It’s idealistic.”

“I know.”

“I hope you never have to change that about you, Darcy.”

There was something incredibly sad in his words and she looked at him, but Steve did not elaborate. Pulling her unruly curls over her shoulder, Darcy’s eyes fell to the sketch pad once more. She nodded her chin at it. “I didn’t mean to distract you from your drawing, I’ll let you get back to it.”

“No, this is good for me,” Steve informed her. “I needed to get out of my head a bit.”

Well, she understood that.

Pulling up her legs, she carefully crossed them beneath her as she sat in the wooden chair. Darcy grinned, “Then, tell me a story?”

“A story about what?”

“Anything. You and Bucky growing up. What was Brooklyn like?”

Steve smiled, suddenly, his eyes flicking away from her. There was something strange in the smile, something underneath it. “I’ll put on a pot of fresh coffee.”

* * *

Upstairs in the dark of Darcy’s room, the gravitational sticks she had pulled last minute from the safe powered on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don’t know, Desmond Doss was a real conscientious objector in World War 2 and has one of the most incredible true accounts of heroism I’ve ever read or seen. There was a movie made about him as well called Hacksaw Ridge. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you amazing readers! I am so glad I get to share this odd little world with you. Don’t forget to check out the [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) for fun sneak peeks and manips.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holiday weekends mean more time to write and thank god for that. Let’s get to it.

The stones glowed in the darkness, smoldering and pulsing like blood locked inside a vein, searching for a way out.

He trailed behind the hulking Titan, eyes lured to the throbbing power lining the knuckles of the gauntlet Thanos wore. They sang to him; a siren’s call that the ear could hear but never fully comprehend. In their song, the stones promised many things.

Supremacy. 

Control. 

_Ecstasy_. 

They also promised pain. 

It was the nature of such things. Ebony Maw knew pain as intimately as he knew himself. Anyone who followed Thanos to the depths that he had understood pain; some even grew to enjoy it. Ebony Maw did not, at least not for himself. There was a part of him that enjoyed inflicting it on others, but when it turned its piercing blades his way, there was no pleasure to be had.

He watched the way Thanos favored his left side, from the slight drag of his foot to the minute dip and curl of his shoulder. His pace quickened.

“My Lord,” Ebony Maw called out, his voice cutting through the cold silence of the ship as they moved deeper into its bowels. Thanos paused but did not turn his head, he continued, “You should return to the regeneration chamber, even if only for the night. We will need your strength to lead us all in the coming days.”

Thanos stared hard at the ground before his feet, the gauntlet dangling at his side like a great weight he struggled to carry. “What I need,” he said, his words slow and careful, “is a favor.”

Behind him, Ebony Maw’s eyes burned like two living coals.

“ _Anything_.”

* * *

A lone figure stood silhouetted at the mouth of the ship. Long, pale, sinewy limbs cloaked in armor faced the city, eyes glittering in the night. Ebony Maw walked past the deceptively strong creature without word or acknowledgment.

“Where are you going?” Corvus Glaive rasped out and he stilled on his dissent into the city, inhaling deeply.

Slowly, he turned on his heel and Ebony Maw’s mouth curved in a simpering smile. “Our Master has given me a task. He is continuing his recovery for the night. I leave him in your care while I am gone.”

He did not wait for a response before turning and disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

“I am Groot.”

“No, no, like _this_.”

“I am Groot.”

Darcy sighed the sigh of one who was greatly suffering and shook her head. She reached for the tree’s hand and took hold of it, closing it in a fist, “Here, now hold out your index finger—it’s this one.” 

She showed him with her own hand and Groot watched closely then dropped his eyes to his twiggy palms and extended his middle finger only. Darcy slapped her palm over her face. It was the third time he had blatantly ignored her instruction.

“I swear to God, I’m going to kill whoever taught you that.”

Groot grinned happily, immune to her bemoaning, and copied the action with his other hand, now effectively flipping Darcy off with both fingers.

“No, bad— _bad_ Groot!” She admonished and shook her head in an exaggerated manner. “Listen, do you want more Skittles?”

That must have been the magic question because instantly, Groot went preternaturally still, like he had been petrified. He stopped breathing and stared at her with such intensity that it was almost frightening. “I. Am. _Groot_.”

“Okay, then this is how you ask for more Skittles,” Darcy informed him and closed her hand in a fist, extending her index finger. She pressed the tip of it into her cheek and twisted it back and forth, explaining as she repeated the movement. “Any time you want Skittles, you do this.”

Watching her diligently, Groot carefully copied her movement and Darcy grinned wildly when he finally got it right and stopped giving her the bird.

“Perfect! Good job, Groot. I knew you could do it,” the tree sat up straight, preening under her praise, his leaves trembling, and Darcy lifted her brows. “Now, do you remember how we say please?”

He gave her the sign for candy immediately and Darcy groaned loudly. 

That was how the Sign Language lesson went for the majority of the rest of the afternoon. The two of them sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the large living room, so close that their knees touched. Warm spring sunlight filtered through the window gradually making its golden path across the floor as the hours passed. Initially she had thought it brilliant and noble to take on the cause of helping Groot communicate in a way the rest of them (outside of Thor) could understand. 

Now? Now she was positive the center of her forehead had a permanent red mark from the number of times she had face palmed. Luckily for him, Groot was damn cute.

“I am Groot.”

“No. No candy. Please. This is what we are trying to do, ‘ _pleeeeeaaasssseeee_.’ Open palm, rub your chest… Groot, you’re ignoring me.”

“How’s the lesson going?” Darcy yelped, whipping around to see Steve casually leaning his shoulder against the kitchen doorway as he watched them, muscled arms crossed over his wide chest. His lips were quirked in amusement.

Darcy gave him the stink eye.

“Well, for a few bright seconds he knew how to say thank you, please, and could ask for more,” Darcy said noisily, turning her exasperated gaze to her would-be student currently informing her that he wanted Skittles. She sighed, chin dropping to her chest, deflating, “But now all he will sign is candy.”

Steve chuckled and it was a deep, rich sound that she felt inside of her as much as she heard it. He shook his head in a ‘ _you should have known better_ ’ sort of manner. 

“Sounds to me like you aren’t really embracing that fun aunt life you were telling me about,” Darcy’s eyes narrowed and she slanted a look at the stupid, ruggedly handsome man. She briefly considered taking a page out of Groot’s book to flip him off, but as if he knew her thoughts, Steve’s grin only widened. He clucked his tongue in mock sympathy and pushed off the wall with his shoulder, walking deeper into the room. “Fun aunts would give him candy when he asks for it. Isn’t that right, Groot?”

“I am Groot,” the tree replied, his vine-like index finger pressing hard into his cheek as he twisted it back and forth. 

Darcy threw her hands in the air. “I give up.”

Sighing loudly, she declared that class was dismissed and moved to stand, unfurling her legs. Immediately there were strong hands under her arms, effortlessly lifting to her feet before she could even blink. Darcy jerked at the suddenness of it and Steve waited, his grip sliding carefully from under her arms to high on her waist, wrapping around her ribs in a way that made Darcy, who was not an abnormally small person, highly aware of just how big he was.

Her skin prickled with unbidden goosebumps.

“You good?”

The words were a low rumble and her lips pressed together, wrapping over her teeth. Darcy nodded jerkily; she didn’t trust her voice not to do the squeaky thing it was so fond of. There was the slightest pressure around her ribs, an acknowledging squeeze, and then Steve released her and she sucked in a steadying breath.

Over the last few days both Thor and Steve had been better about letting her move around the house without their assistance. Not that she particularly minded being carried around bridal style by Captain America (every time she _did_ fuss about it though, he thoroughly enjoyed throwing her own words back at her reminding her that _he could carry her around as much as he damn well pleased_ ) and piggy back rides from Thor were always fun, but her wounds were healing nicely and there was a small, thorny part of her heart that was very much ready to no longer be the literal dead weight for Team Avengers. 

“Where did you learn Sign Language?” Steve asked, eyes tracking her as she hobbled over to the couch, ready to leap into action if his assistance was needed.

“Oh god,” Darcy twirled on her heel and plopped down on the cushion with a sigh, stretching out her legs, “in high school. I opted out of the usual Spanish and French and chose Sign Language. My teacher was deaf and I adored him. I took his class for three years but sadly, like most languages, if you don’t keep up with them, you start to lose it,” she watched Groot rise to his feet in a huff and wander off, apparently done with the both of them since he had not received the Skittles he was continuously requesting. Grinning and shaking her head, she glanced back at Steve and nodded her chin, “What other languages do you speak?”

“Who says that I speak anything besides English?” Steve lifted a brow.

Darcy gave him a flat look. “How many?”

A beat of silence and then—

“A few.”

“Is that code for you’re fluent in, like, twenty languages?”

Steve’s laugh had no sound other than the single, explosive exhale of air through his nostrils and he shrugged lightly, like he was a little uncomfortable with the question. His gaze flicked away from hers with a boyish grin. “Definitely not twenty, but the serum affected more than my physique. I’ve got a good memory now and things just… stick.”

“Lucky you,” Darcy grinned and leaned back against the couch, her eyes skimming over the tall, broad American monument standing before her before she could stop them.

 _Physique, indeed._ She thought very loudly, lifting her elbow to the armrest, knuckles rising to her lips to hide her pleased smile.

Steve watched her and seemed to recognize the evaluation; he let her look for a long moment and not only did he let her look, but he stared back in return. They watched each other in silence and it was like standing on the edge of a blustery cliff; Darcy could almost feel the wind brushing over her face. Then, like Steve had come to an important conclusion, something simmered behind his eyes and he spoke in a low, lilting tone.

“ _Níl, is é an t-ádh atá orm cara mar tusa a bheith agat atá chomh cineálta agus atá sí go hálainn._ ”

The words _slid_ over her skin like electrified silk and it was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room. 

Brows lifting very slowly, Darcy pursed her lips in absolute interest. “ _Ooh_. Careful, Steve… you’re gonna make a girl swoon talking like that,” she teased (but _oh my fucking god_ ) and then tilted her head, snapping back to herself. “What did you say?”

He considered her question.

“I said what makes me lucky is having a friend like you,” Steve admitted with quiet honesty and there was something that was almost bashful about the way he said it. 

The afternoon light hit his eyes and they illuminated like a swift sunrise on a cold, arctic horizon and something inside of Darcy gave way.

She didn’t say anything in response but in her mind there were flashes of a sleepless night at the kitchen table, a shared pot of coffee, and closely guarded truths tentatively unveiled; her lips bled into a slow, brilliant smile and Steve all but drank in the sight.

It had been like this with Steve ever since that night. Despite all the teasing, there was a growing and yet unhurried ease between the two of them. It wasn’t the fast and easy friendships Darcy was used to making, this was something deeper, firmer, and maybe it had to do more with the character of the man than the friendship itself. She got the feeling that Steve Rogers was not the type to let many behind the stoic mask of Captain America but somehow, whether by chance or circumstance, Darcy found herself beyond the veil.

She did not take that lightly and by the way he was looking at her this very moment, neither did he.

It was like stepping out onto a frozen lake, both of them inching forward, feeling out how strong the ice was beneath their feet, all the while wondering if it might all crack and crumble under the newly invited weight. But with every step that the ice held firm, there was a flood of triumph in her veins because, _God_ , it felt so fucking good to have another friend. 

“I don’t speak Gaelic but even _I_ know that isn’t all that you said, Cap.”

Jolting back into reality, Darcy’s eyes snapped to the stairwell where Clint was carefully making his way down. The archer’s hair was in need of a good wash and he was in wrinkled pajamas as he leaned on the railing, curling slightly to the side where he had been wounded, as if he didn’t want to stretch the skin. 

“Gaelic?” Darcy quirked a brow at Steve and the blond man slanted a glance her way.

“My mother,” was all he said in explanation.

Behind Clint, Natasha and Thor appeared, following his path, the redhead’s face pulled tight in something almost like worry.

“Clint, listen to Thor, you should really—”

“I’m _fine_.” Clint declared as he reached the bottom of the steps. 

“Hey, how come no one is carrying him around?” Darcy commented with a petulant frown.

A vein popped in the archer’s reddening forehead as he turned a puckered expression Darcy’s way. “They kept me cooped up there for _four goddamn days_ ,” Clint grouched, “I’m about to lose my fucking mind. So, no, Pipsqueak, no one is carrying me unless they want to lose a finger.”

“ _Pipsqueak?!_ Technically _I_ carried you off the roof.” 

She didn’t, not really, but it was the principle of the matter.

Clint ignored her rebuttal and looked around the room, agitated, “Hey, Doc!”

“This can wait until you’re—” Natasha began and like a rubber band that had been stretched too far, Clint _snapped_.

“ _THE FUCK IT CAN!_ ” 

The room fell eerily silent, like the moment after the first crack of a lightning strike, the air turning raw and full of welts. Clint’s chest rose up and down with his harsh breathing, a wild look in his eyes as his gaze moved about the room. His brows pinched together tightly and his mouth twisted with grief before something very much like rage hardened his features. 

“Did you all forget?” Clint asked, his voice cracking. When no one answered, he bared his teeth. “What the hell have you been doing? I lost my family to this son of a bitch. We lost half of the entire world and we’re just sitting on our asses doing nothing?!”

“We haven’t done ‘nothing’,” Steve spoke up and his voice was steely. “We’ve got Fury’s pager and we’re working on getting a signal to get a message out to Tony.”

“That’s great, Cap,” Clint said bitterly. “ _If_ Tony is even alive, fantastic, and wow—you’ve got a pager. But now what? What are we _doing?_ ”

For a long time, no one said a thing. 

Lifting his head, Thor’s face was set in something that could only be called retribution. He took a heavy step forward and it was as if the world moved with him.

“What would you have us do?”

Clint didn’t hesitate, “We need to get those fucking stones back but until then, strike back and strike fast; hit them where it hurts.”

“We don’t have the weapons or the manpower to do _any_ of that,” Steve reasoned but even as he denied it, there was a deep hunger in his eyes, sitting under the surface—like a barely contained bomb. “Both are dwindling here.”

Clint went very still.

“I know where we can get more weapons.”

* * *

The next half hour was a flurry of movement and cacophony of noise. Darcy had never witnessed Earth’s Mightiest Heroes plan a mission before, so she didn’t know what to expect. It was loud and emotions ran high and while Clint was the one with the information here, it was clear that Steve’s word had the final say on what they would actually do. There was an undercover SHIELD base (one that even Natasha had not been unaware of, much to her extreme displeasure) a few hours upstate in Albany that would have a solid supply of weapons. Clint was talking guerrilla warfare, ambushes, and all kinds of other risky sounding shit and when the others seriously considered the suggestions, it hit Darcy like a pile of bricks—this was _real_. 

Clint had been right.

It was funny, almost, how if she didn’t _talk_ about it, then she didn’t _think_ about it, and if she didn’t _think_ about it, then it was almost like _nothing_ had ever happened. Her fingers curled into tight fists as she stared blankly ahead, snippets of conversations buzzing in and right out of her ears like the hum of a beehive. A sharp feeling of shame filled a lump in the base of her throat making it hard to swallow, hard to breathe.

She had actually enjoyed the few days of escape after returning with the _TeleThor_ , even if it was just mentally. But how many people didn’t have that option and were scared out of their minds right now? 

This wasn’t over just because they lost. 

The world was in chaos, billions of people had disappeared, and more were going to die if they didn’t stop Thanos. 

Thanos who was undefeatable as long as he had the infinity stones. Thanos who killed off half of the Avengers and could just as easily kill the rest of them—these living, breathing, vibrant people who were so much more than just their uniforms. They risked their lives constantly for a world that was as suspicious of them as they were ungrateful and for all of their power, they were not immortal.

And Darcy did not want them to die.

A steaming bowl of green-colored soup appeared under her nose and Darcy shook herself. She looked up to the softly smiling face of Bruce. The wrinkles around his eyes crinkled in a familiar way.

“Thought you might want something to eat,” Bruce murmured in his quiet manner and Darcy was oddly touched. 

She swallowed thickly and carefully took the hot bowl from him, whispering, “Thank you.”

His dark eyes twinkled as he nodded and went off to hand bowls of soup to the rest of the team. Darcy watched him, this gentle man that loved Skittles, was a patient and kind teacher, and worked so damn hard to house a raging beast. The sudden thought of losing him or Thor or Steve or any of them trapped Darcy’s heart in something that felt like barbed wire. It coiled around her chest and _squeezed_. 

Her breath was shaky and she blinked rapidly down at the soup. It smelled a little funny and she wasn’t sure what kind of soup it was. Tentatively she spooned a small amount into her mouth.

The second the soup hit her tongue her eyes bulged and her hand flew to her mouth. The sudden motion caught Steve’s eye across the room and he watched in concern as she nearly gagged while swallowing it down.

Afterwards, he glanced down at the soup in his hand and very carefully set it back on the table. 

“Bruce, you got that pager around here?” Clint asked suddenly and the scientist paused his quiet conversation with Natasha, looking up with lifted brows.

“It’s on the other side of the _TeleThor_. Why?”

Clint didn’t answer, he moved over and picked the black device up, squinting down at the symbol, clearly thinking hard.

“Clint?” Natasha prompted.

He tapped the screen a few times with his index finger, not looking up, “Something about this has been bugging me. Nat, when we get to that base, I want you to work your magic and take a dive in SHIELD records from the nineties. I think I might have actually seen this before.”

That got the attention of everyone in the room.

“Where?” Natasha took a small step forward, brows pulled low over her green eyes.

“It was before you were with SHIELD,” Clint shot a meaningful look at the Black Widow. “I was on records duty for a week filing highly classified reports after a mission went south. I don’t remember much about it, if I saw it then it was more in passing than anything else, but it also might be a lead,” then the archer laughed and it was hollow. “Or who the fuck knows, it might be nothing.”

“Have we considered the fact that this base might not be abandoned?” Steve spoke up, his eyes like flint. “The last I checked, SHIELD wasn’t exactly fond of me and was also infiltrated by Hydra.”

Clint was quiet for a few seconds. “If it isn’t empty, then you can go roll some heads. You like doing that, right Cap?”

Darcy blinked and her eyes slid from Clint to Steve and there was something unnamable staring back out of Steve’s gaze. His jaw ticked and when he spoke, his voice was an edict. “Oh Five Hundred tomorrow.”

“Done,” Clint grinned and it was a knife’s edge.

Darcy’s gaze dropped down to the uneaten bowl of soup resting in her lap, her stomach clenching. She ran the tip of her finger along the smooth rim, bumping into the spoon, feeling very out of place. Bruce had purposefully removed himself, already declaring that he felt it best that he stay behind and work on the _TeleThor_ with Groot given Hulk's current status. No one had argued that point. Darcy, however, merely watched it all from her spot on the couch. She had curled her feet under her, mindful of her stitches, and listened, brows furrowed in quiet contemplation. Thor and the others continued ironing out their plans and as they did, Groot wandered over—perhaps the only other person here who could somewhat relate to her situation.

And he was a teenage tree.

 _Fantastic_.

“I am Groot,” he took the spot next to her on the sofa while putting his index finger into his cheek, twisting it back and forth.

She made a sad noise, “I think we’re all out of Skittles, Groot. I’m sorry.”

He stared at her and continued making the sign with enough friction that there was a real possibility of him igniting his wooden face. Darcy scrunched her face up at him, not sure what to do. She set the full soup bowl carefully on the ground without a single plan of picking it up again, except to dump it down the sink, and as she did, a thought occurred.

“Hey, Thor?”

The room came to a standstill and they all turned to stare at her as she straightened back up. Her eyes went wide at the sudden attention and Thor looked at her over the heads of the others, his gaze softening before excusing himself and walking over. Darcy didn’t have a lot of time to think about the fact that he stopped everything and gave her his complete and total attention the moment she called his name… but it was nice. 

Conversations began to pick up once more.

“Yes?” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Darcy started, giving the god a guilty look, her face heating.

He shook his head easily. “No matter, what is it?”

“Well… I was thinking that while you all go on your mission tomorrow, can I—I want to go to the store.” Thor blinked and Darcy’s shoulders hunched to her ears as she whispered very quietly, “Please don’t tell Bruce, it’s very sweet that he has been making dinner for everyone, but I don’t think I can eat anymore of his cooking.”

“Ah,” Thor nodded, eyes dropping to the abandoned soup. He gave her a secret smile and whispered back, “Me neither.”

Darcy stared at him in shock and then began to giggle as quietly as she could manage, slapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound before anyone else heard. Thor merely winked and lifted a finger to his lips. She grinned and added for good measure, “Plus, Groot requests more Skootles.” 

“I am Groot!” The teenage tree leaned in to their stealthy conversation agreeing boisterously while giving the sign once more for candy. Darcy waved her hand at him.

“We can’t deny him any longer or else he is going to drill a hole in his face.”

Thor gave Groot a long, considering look and then lifted his brows and nodded. “I can see. Tree? Not so hard, you must press lightly—yes, there you go.”

Eyes flicking back to Darcy, Thor hesitated and he fell quiet, his gaze lowering. She waited while he considered and chose his words carefully.

“If you are bound and determined to go, Darcy, then I will go with you.” He said, his voice falling low and Darcy’s mouth dropped open. Thor’s eyes flashed up to hers and they struck like lightning. He took in her surprise and his brows pinched together and lifted in the middle. “I told you I am willing to try.”

Darcy’s heart thumped hard in her chest and she wasn’t sure she had ever loved Thor more than she did in that very moment. 

“But what about the mission tomorrow?”

Pursing his lips, Thor twisted, his gaze drifting to his conversing teammates. Steve was already watching the two of them off and on as he spoke with the others. When the Captain’s gaze eventually landed back on the two of them Thor lifted his hand, two fingers twitching in a quick beckoning motion.

“Everything alright?” Steve asked, his expression as cautious as his tone as he approached.

Thor inhaled deeply, “My heart is not at ease with the notion of leaving them behind while Hulk is incapacitated. They need protection and I will give it.”

“ _I_ am Groot.”

“Yes, you are formidable, Tree,” Thor said with such kindness, resting a heavy hand on Groot’s slim shoulder, “but you are also young.”

“I agree, it’s a good idea,” Steve was slowly nodding, blue eyes flicking to Darcy. 

“It’s also because I want to go to the grocery store and Thor doesn’t want me going alone,” Darcy admitted, wanting to be truthful. Steve’s brows lifted in response and she rushed ahead to explain. “I appreciate that all of you are insanely fit and probably only eat food to fuel your bodies but I’d like to get some normal people groceries, if that’s okay? And… maybe I can cook something that isn’t…” she eyed the soup and then looked up, squinting, “questionable. I mean, it’s not like I’ll have anything else to do,” she shrugged towards the end feeling more than a little stupid.

The Avengers were planning a covert mission to raid a SHIELD base for weapons and here she was begging to go grocery shopping.

Steve sank down in a squat so she didn’t have to crane her head back to stare up at him. Eyes the color of northern oceans locked on hers and when he spoke, his voice was very quiet, “Darcy? You don’t have to explain or excuse yourself. It’s okay.”

She just stared at him and then—

“You sure, Muscles?”

“Yeah,” Steve’s eyes twinkled the moment the nickname left her lips, his voice was very deep. “I’m sure.”

It would have been tempting to continue staring at the beautiful man crouched before her but Darcy suddenly remembered Thor was also there, hovering over the two of them. Flinching back, she glanced up and caught the tail end of an unnamable look on the god’s face. At her movement, Thor’s gaze returned to her and he looked distinctly put out, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Darcy’s brows lifted and Thor muttered, “I am bigger than Steven.”

“That’s why I call you Big Guy.”

Thor only grunted in return and Darcy rolled her eyes, grinning and blushing. She leaned back on the couch as Steve straightened back to his full height. Glancing at the two men, it felt she was about to go on a grand quest and Darcy, ever the awkward nerd, could not help herself before blurting out—

“Two companions, so be it. We shall be the Fellowship of the Groceries!”

Steve snorted while Thor appeared to rise to the sense of great importance and nodded solemnly and Darcy couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up in her chest, never quite escaping her throat. 

“If you two are going to do this,” Steve started, giving Thor an assessing look, “then you’re going to need to go undercover. He’s too recognizable, even with the haircut. The whole idea is to blend in and lay low right now.”

“I shall disguise myself,” Thor told him easily and Steve didn’t look entirely convinced. Thor frowned deeply, “You think I cannot do it?”

“Bruce told me how the disguises went on that other planet. A blanket covering half of your face won’t cut it.”

Thor bristled and Darcy raised her hand, like she was in class and was waiting for the teacher to call on her. Steve gave her a funny look and nodded expectantly.

“I’ll help him! I have the perfect idea—it’ll be great,” she said quickly and then turned to Thor who appeared more than a little dubious about her 'perfect' idea. “We’ll need to look at little bonkers, but I have faith in you, Big Guy. You’ve got the acting chops.”

“Chop of what?”

“Acting. _Method_ acting, specifically. We’ll review it as we prepare to embark on our journey to Mount Walmart.”

* * *

Later that night, Darcy crept across the hall and softly, but insistently, knocked on the door. Less than a second after her knuckles connected with the wood, Natasha answered and something like surprise flitted across her green eyes as she took in Darcy’s grinning face. The younger woman gave Natasha a funny little wave that was more of a jerky flap of her arm than anything else.

“Hi,” Darcy began awkwardly and Natasha said nothing. “You’re a spy, you have spy things.”

Silence, and then a very slow, drawn out, “Yes.”

“Can you help me with something?” Darcy asked earnestly and Natasha waited a moment, considering, and it felt like the moments before a Grand Jury read out their verdict. Finally, the redhead stepped aside, letting Darcy in.

There were no lights on in the room and Darcy had to wait until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Clint was a motionless lump on the bed, clearly in a deep slumber. Next to the bed was an uncomfortable, wooden chair faintly illuminated in the moonlight. 

The chair gave Darcy pause. 

To Darcy’s right, the Black Widow was a pale statue and something about Natasha’s stance, the hard lines of her body, told Darcy not to bring up the fact that the other woman had been standing watch over the injured archer while he slept.

Instead, Darcy eyed the sleeping man, her face an exaggerated grimace. “Sorry,” she mouthed.

“What do you need?” Natasha did not acknowledge the apology, keeping her voice a low murmur. 

Darcy inhaled.

“A wig?”

* * *

The door shut with a muted click, encasing the room in darkness once more. Natasha turned, eyes sliding to Clint. “You can stop faking now.”

The sheets whispered as his legs shifted and his head flopped to the side but he said nothing for a long while. Natasha moved to her chair and sat down quietly. It groaned under her weight and Clint’s arm lifted, his hand running through his hair.

“Are we sure about this?” He asked, his voice quiet and laced with doubt. “Having her stay here? God, she’s just a kid…” Clint stopped, like the words on his tongue were too heavy to lift. A wet swallow echoed in the room. “Natasha, I don’t want more blood on my hands.”

She didn’t have to ask who he was talking about, she knew. They all knew. 

“She’s important to Thor.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Clint said flatly, “but there are other places— _safer_ places—that he could have taken her. We’re not exactly the best option.”

Natasha would have answered, would have said something if she knew she could do so without giving away an ounce of what she was actually feeling.

But she couldn’t, so she stayed silent, staring off to the side.

Bed springs squeaked and Clint grunted, rolling from his back to his uninjured side. “Nat,” he said lowly, his voice thick with things that she had never spoken to another living soul besides the man lying in that bed. “I know that look. Don’t go there. She’s not—”

“I know she isn’t.”

“… Do you?”

Natasha couldn’t meet his eyes.

* * *

Darcy’s stomach ached.

It had been a long time since she had laughed hard enough that her abs became truly sore, but god, Thor was killing her. They had spent the entire evening getting ready and going over their own secret domesticated mission in her room. Thor, of course, had very real and very serious instructions for her, similar enough to Steve and his ground rules, but after that… Even now as she lay in bed, staring out the window at the glowing moon, Darcy’s bed shook with her silent laughter. She wiped away a stray, happy tear from the corner of her eye.

“Oh, Janie,” Darcy whispered quietly, “if only you could see him now…” The moon hung in the sky, alone, and Darcy’s heart panged. “I miss you, you know,” she told it in a soft whisper. “I wish you were here. There’s this talking tree that I think Thor adopted, so you might be a step-mom or would that make you the adoptive mom? Anyway, I’m the fun aunt—no matter what Steve says.”

There had been a slew of thoughts she was going to whisper to Jane into the quiet of the night, like she had grown accustomed to doing now as a part of her nightly routine. It was almost like a prayer; but at the mention of the Captain, Darcy’s words fell short.

Next to the moon was a very small star, nothing more than a speck of glitter in the overwhelming darkness. Yet still, it shone. In comparison with the moon, it was overshadowed, but Darcy’s eyes locked on it and she smiled sweetly at it. Her brows pinched and she bit her lip feeling an overwhelming urge to say something and yet, even though she was alone in her room, a certain level of shyness.

She opened her mouth and closed it, gathering her courage, and then—

“Bucky?” Darcy called out softly, feeling silly as her eyes welled and she swallowed wetly. Despite how much Thor had made her laugh, there was worry in the pit of her belly. “I don’t know if you’re out there, but if you are and if you’re listening… keep an eye on Steve and the team tomorrow? For me, please?”

Silence followed and Darcy couldn’t bring herself to say anything more. There had been no real strength behind her voice, just a fleeting hope. The other things that rested in her heart did not have the capacity for words and so she took one last look at the moon and the glittering star and rolled over, closing her eyes, unsure of what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

Far off, in a blood red-tinted abyss of stillness and silence, dark blue eyes slid open and James Buchanan Barnes woke with a gasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -cackles- Soooooo. Things are starting to happen. PLOTPLOTPLOT. BUCKY MY LOVE, I MISS YOU. I’m going to remind you all that this is a slow burn and, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need you to trust me... alright?
> 
> Thank you to the real champions of this story, those who believe in it and continue coming back; to you, the readers! You are magnificent and I appreciate every one of you. Don't forget to check out my [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) for fun sneak peeks and manips.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m legitimately excited about this chapter. THINGS are happening people! STUFF AND THINGS.

Sleep was not something Darcy peacefully floated out of.

There was no gradual transfer from unconsciousness to waking. It was a sudden jerk, like a magician ripping a table cloth out from under a full set of dishes; she _snapped_ into alertness, cold spring air filling her lungs to capacity.

At first, she wasn’t sure what woke her until she heard the low murmurs on the other side of her door. Darcy shot up in bed, the blankets pooling at her waist; soft gray light filtered in through the window as dawn approached. Tossing the covers back, she limped as quickly as she could to the door and pressed her ear against the smooth wood. The words on the other side were indecipherable and muted, as though underwater, but she recognized the speaker and slowly cracked open the door.

It made no sound that she could hear but the trio outside of Clint’s room turned to her instantaneously, as though it had squeaked obnoxiously. Their faces were a strange mixture of surprise and casual dismissal.

Steve twisted, his eyes quickly flicking over her, commenting, “You’re up early.”

“I wanted to make sure I got the chance to say goodbye,” Darcy murmured softly with a shrug.

“Geez, that’s dramatic. What, you think we aren’t coming back?” Clint piped up, not looking at her as he tied the laces of his boots with jerky, sharp tugs.

Darcy wanted to roll her eyes and say _of course_ they were coming back, but she was no fool. Things were different. No one lost half the world and still believed they were invincible. 

The archer finished tying his shoes and straightened with a wince that stole his breath. Clenching his jaw, he exhaled explosively and left without another word. They watched him go and even Darcy could see Clint was favoring his wound but, from the rigid set of his body, she wasn’t sure there was a person on this planet who could convince him to stay behind. 

She feared for anyone who tried. 

“We’ll be waiting,” Natasha told Steve quietly, green eyes sliding to Darcy in that detached sort of way that only the Black Widow seemed capable of, before she shut Clint’s bedroom door and followed after the archer.

Staring down the now empty hallway, a sharp pang of worry crawled through her belly. Darcy’s blood marched in her ears and her insides twisted in a tangled knot.

“We’ll be okay,” Steve told her and she gradually dragged her eyes back to him.

For the first time since she opened her door, she noticed that he wasn’t in his typical uniform. Her brows pulled together; she had expected with a mission for him to look the part of Captain America but the ensemble he wore was an all-black tactical suit that was made for stealth. There was no star, no identifying symbol, just a sense of deadly precision. Steve kept his eyes locked on her and she caught the glinting silver of a wicked looking blade he was tucking away into a concealed pocket on the jacket he wore.

Funny, she had never really thought of knives to be Captain America’s style. 

Looking closer, she realized that the signature red, white, and blue shield was nowhere to be seen either and with his longer hair and beard and the sharp-edged creature staring back out of his eyes, perhaps _this_ Steve was a different man entirely.

“Hey.”

She started and blinked. Steve’s gaze was searching, concerning tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Are _you_ okay?” He asked at last and Darcy made a helpless sort of gesture with her hands.

“I have to be,” was all she said. Steve looked very much like he wanted to say something but she was worried about what might come out of his mouth so she schooled her features as best as she could. “Be safe out there, yeah?”

Steve looked at her for a long moment and then gave her a very slow nod.

“That goes for you, too.”

“Ah yes,” Darcy nodded sagely and her voice sounded odd, even to her ears, “the dangers of the grocery store. I’ve heard aisle three can be very treacherous.”

“I mean it, Darcy. Try to stay out of trouble.”

The fake smile she had conjured fell from her lips like snow from the side of a mountain and she nodded wordlessly in its wake. Steve said nothing more as he stared down at her and it was like he was waiting for something, though for the life of her, Darcy did not know what. 

Eventually, she dropped her eyes to her bare feet and a thought flitted by like a stray butterfly and before she knew what she was doing, the words slipped past her tongue.

“What did you really say yesterday?” 

Something shifted in the air around them. She stared hard at the black boots he wore and gradually skimmed her gaze up his strong form to his contemplative face. Steve was quiet for a few seconds and the look in his eyes was utterly unreadable. “Like I told you, that I’m lucky to have you as a friend.”

Darcy nodded and she didn’t understand why, but it was suddenly very important for her to know. The ice was growing thin beneath her feet, yet still, she pressed further. “What was the rest of what you said?”

Steve’s eyes were measuring and her skin began to tingle, her whole body feeling as if it lived in this very moment.

“That you’re kind,” he said at last, his voice quiet and there was no doubt in it at all. Clear blue eyes flickered between both of hers and when he spoke next his words were so soft that she almost didn’t hear them. Instead, she _felt_ them, “… and that you are beautiful”

Her stomach flipped. 

“Oh.”

It was a long time before the corner of Steve’s mouth ticked upwards and the wrinkles around his eyes fanned out in a smile as he mimicked her with a slow, soft. “ _Oh_.”

A jolt of silent fire shot through her. Darcy tore her eyes away, suddenly nervous, and blood filled her cheeks until they were bright pink. He didn’t laugh at her but she could feel the mirth pouring off of this dangerous man in waves that hit her skin again and again, soaking it until all she could mutter was a grinning grade school reprimand.

“Shut up, Steve.”

He stepped forward suddenly and her eyes flew to his. She didn’t know what he was going to do and would never find out because at that very moment an ear shattering belch ricocheted through the hallway. 

Darcy whipped around to see the owner of such a noise exiting his room with shuffling sort of steps. Her mouth instantly split into a massive grin, giggles bubbling up like a happy mountain creek living in her belly. Beside her, Steve had the strangest look of utter bafflement on his face.

Shaking his head, the Captain’s brows creased together tightly, his mouth falling open in shock. Finally his voice croaked out, “ _Thor?!_ ”

The God of Thunder whirled on his heels with a grunt, his arms flailing out a bit as he did. He wore house slippers and ratty plaid pajama bottoms with a filthy white shirt that had a thin pillow stuffed under it. One of those Christmas sweaters that was a size too small (thank you, Bruce) barely wrapped over his massive shoulders and dark sunglasses hid his eyes completing the look.

Well, almost.

“You should see the wig I have for him,” Darcy said, the words forming around the smile she wore.

Steve’s eyes flashed to hers. “Wig?”

“Natasha let me borrow one… though she might not want it back when she sees what I’ve done to it. However, desperate times, desperate measures.”

Like his feet wanted to go in a different direction than the rest of his body, Thor ambled over to the pair with a smug grin. “What do you think, Steven?”

There were many things that Darcy had seen in her life, fantastic things, magical things: dark elves, gods, the bifrost, Thor’s abs… but nothing quite matched the utterly speechless look gracing Captain America’s face now.

“I mean,” Steve said and then stopped and started over, his mouth working like a fish, “The disguise works.”

“I am _method_ acting,” Thor informed him, leaning back severely and wiggling his fingers in the air (which were encased in fingerless gloves). 

Steve slanted a questioning glance Darcy’s way and her face was bright red with laughter. She wiped at a corner of her eye and tried to get the words out, “He’s really quite good. I showed him clips of _The Big Lebowski_ and _Pirates of the Caribbean_ and somehow we got…” she motioned to the god, sighing happily, “ _this_. He was practicing it last night. It’s brilliant.”

“I will need your assistance with strapping this on tighter,” Thor informed her, patting the lumpy pillow resting over his belly.

“No problem, Big Guy.”

Steve watched the two of them and then ran a heavy have over his face. “I should probably go.”

At the mention of the impending mission, Darcy’s smile retreated some and she pressed her lips together, nodding in agreement. A heavy arm settled around her shoulders and her knees almost buckled under the sudden weight, but she let Thor tuck her into his side. Steve watched the two of them before his gaze landed on Thor and he shook his head with a low laugh, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Be on your guard, Steven,” Thor spoke up, dropping his act. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, the god’s expression now serious and drawn, “I worry that Clint is far more reckless than we are used to.”

Slowly, Steve nodded but the look on his face did not promise compliance. Not in the least. “Maybe we all are. Maybe it’s what we need.”

“There is a difference between valor and stupidity, my friend. I suggest finding the boundary separating the two.”

They fell quiet, the words hanging in the air, and finally Steve straightened, his body tensing as he slid seamlessly into his role as the Captain. Steely blue eyes flashed to Darcy and they paused there for a second before sliding back to Thor.

“Take care of her.”

With that, he turned and left.

But not before Darcy pushed away from Thor in righteous indignation, yelling obnoxiously after his retreating figure, “Um, I do a great job of taking care of myself, thanks, _Steve!_ ”

“Tell that to your alien friends,” Steve called back without turning around and Darcy narrowed her eyes at him as he disappeared out of sight.

She turned back to Thor, still feeling her ire. But there was a strange look on the god’s face and something about it had Darcy’s fists slowly unclenching. 

“Be cautious with the Captain, Darcy,” Thor said, his voice very quiet and she went utterly still, her heart giving a loud, singular thump against her ribcage. Her lips parted as she stared up at the God of Thunder and he continued lowly, “On Asgard, we would call him Fireborn.” 

Darcy drew in a breath, “Fireborn? I don’t… I don’t understand what you mean.”

“My mother used to say that when you are born in fire, smoke will never do. I do not think Steven will ever be able to leave this life behind out of his own choosing. He is inexplicably tied to it, he aches for it.”

“Is that such a bad thing? I mean… he’s—he’s helping people, so that’s a good thing, right? That’s what all of you do.”

Thor’s eyes were very dark. 

“Aye, it is also a dangerous thing. There will always be war in the universe. It is the nature of life; there is struggle, victory, and loss. I fear for the man that not only fights those battles but also is at war within himself. There must be peace somewhere for each of us. We cannot burn forever, all wick and no wax.”

“Why are you telling me all of this, Thor?” Darcy asked quietly.

For a few seconds, Thor was quiet, then—

“Because even though I am playing the fool today, I am anything but. You are a most captivating sister and I am not blind to the way Steven looks at you.”

Her eyes went wide and her mouth twisted, “He doesn’t—”

Thor’s hand lifted to her face, brushing his knuckle gently over her cheek, chasing the words from her tongue. The god’s eyes were much older than the rest of him and a hurricane of stars swirled in them; it did not match the sad smile he wore. 

“You are more than what your fears and doubts whisper to you in the dead of night.”

* * *

Darcy retreated to her room, quiet and contemplative. She tried to go back to sleep for a few hours since no store would be open this early, but it was useless. Her body tossed and turned in her bed for a while until, finally, she had no choice but to get up and dress for her own outing.

The shower was piping hot and she might have stood under it a touch too long, the water turning her skin rosy. She toweled off swiftly and dressed in the bathroom, tucking her wet hair into a quick French braid once more, before opening the door and letting the gathered steam escape. Bare feet padded down the wood paneled hallway and she was happy to notice that the pain in her feet had lessened significantly this morning. 

In her room she dug out a pair of clean socks and pulled out the dreaded sneakers. Someone (Thor, she guessed) must have taken the time to clean the blood out of them, though there was still a faint brownish-looking residue. 

Darcy put them on mechanically and tried very hard not to think about her conversation with Thor or the others and where they might be at the moment and if they were okay. 

In college she’d been in therapy due to a sudden onset of reoccurring panic attacks. In those sessions, a kind woman with warm, brown eyes had told her to focus on her surroundings and what she knew to be real and true when the fear and the worry seemed so all encompassing that she couldn’t breathe. Darcy learned, in those moments, to focus on the colors in the room, the texture of the curls in her hair, on sounds and smells—to lose herself so thoroughly in her senses that she couldn’t think of anything else.

And so that’s what Darcy did.

She sat on her bed and focused on the details surrounding her so completely that she hardly noticed the gravitational sticks powering on by themselves. A light beep came from the corner where they lay against the wall followed by a soft, electrical hum. Frowning, Darcy moved over and picked up the control panel.

It was blank. Frowning even deeper, she pressed the power button, shutting them back down and waited, eyeing the sticks cautiously. 

They did nothing.

Nodding to herself, she grabbed her things and marched out the door.

* * *

“Stop scratching.”

“It is bothersome.”

“Well, you’re going to mess it up if you keep doing that,” Darcy admonished as she drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, casting side glances at Thor’s hulking frame. “Think of it this way, you only have to wear it for the next hour and then you never have to put it on again… except for when we need more groceries.”

Thor thankfully stopped pulling at the wig and huffed grumpily, staring out the windshield through his dark sunglasses. The god looked less than comfortable crammed in the tiny car but it wasn’t that long of a drive to the store. Darcy didn’t say anything about that fact that the Avengers apparently had vehicles to use and yet the night she and Steve snuck off, he had stolen one. 

Go figure.

The parking lot of Walmart was surprisingly _not_ vacant. About a third of the place was filled with cars and it was the first time that Darcy caught a glimpse of actual _people_ since Thor had brought her to the Avengers safe house. She pulled into a parking spot easily and then quickly shut the car off, staring out the window like a child at the zoo.

“Okay,” she breathed out, “we made it. I have a list somewhere—ah, thank you,” she grinned, taking the folded slip of paper from Thor’s big fingers as he held it up. He was not looking at her, his wig-covered head turned towards the looming store. Darcy watched him for a moment, her eyes flicking to the Walmart and back to the god, “Thor, are we good?”

A beat of silence.

“Aye,” Thor answered slowly, still looking out the window. Then he glanced at Darcy, his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses he wore. “We should be quick though.”

He didn’t have to explain any further. 

Darcy nodded, “Understood.”

The car shifted violently as they got out of the car, more so from Thor’s mass. She waited until he closed the door before clicking the lock button. It beeped in response and their eyes met over the hood of the car, the wind pulling a stray lock of hair loose from her braid.

“Don’t forget, no matter who speaks to us, you are—”

“What I am,” Thor cut her off, wobbling his head a little as he spoke, “is in need of a Bloody Mary.”

She smiled at him. “I’m so proud.”

They ambled into the store and Thor put on a magnificent show as Darcy grabbed a cart. His tall, brooding, stature had people giving him a wide berth, even as he scratched lazily at his chest. The wig Natasha had given her was blond and Darcy had spent a bit of time the night before making it look as if it belonged on someone in desperate need of a shower and a barber. She had added a few twists to it as well, giving it a sense of impending dreadlocks.

All in all, like Steve said, the disguise worked.

The Walmart doors _whooshed_ open and she pushed the cart inside, Thor just a step over her right shoulder. He whipped and whirled around gracelessly, like he was amazed by the magnitude of the store (Darcy wasn’t sure that he was acting there), but otherwise followed her in silence. She made a beeline for the fresh produce and began filling the basket with cartons of blueberries, bananas, spinach, broccoli, and anything else she could get her hands on. Eggs and dairy was next, followed by some meat. She stuck to basic ingredients for simple, large meals everyone could enjoy.

They tried to avoid people in general. Despite Thor doing a magnificent job, Darcy didn’t want to risk anyone trying to take a closer look. It wasn’t hard though, avoiding people. Everyone else seemed to have the same idea, flitting through aisles and snatching what they needed, their movements like spooked, wild horses ready to flee.

Slowly but surely she and Thor worked their way through the store filling the basket. Darcy made sure to stop by the feminine product aisle, trying not to laugh at how out of place Thor looked amongst the tampons. She snagged a large box and tossed in some pads, unsure if Natasha needed or preferred one or the other. 

There were no store employees anymore, not even cashiers. Instead, it was the National Guard in full uniform working the check-out lines and monitoring the aisles. They logged what each person took on a device with their name, address, and size of the household. 

Darcy sighed in relief when they pulled into the check-out line, her muscles finally relaxing. 

The line was slow moving, given the new and unfamiliar system, but they gradually inched forward. Darcy tapped on the cart, shifting from foot to foot. Finally, when a young man in uniform with skin the color of coffee and kind eyes approached them, Darcy was smiling so big, her cheeks hurt.

He hardly looked older than eighteen and almost grinned back at her, then his dark eyes shot to the silent, brooding Thor who had gone still as a statue while clutching three massive bags of family-sized Skittles in his arms. The young man’s brows pinched and he nodded his chin at Thor, eyes sliding back to Darcy, asking lightly, “Is he okay?”

Darcy blurted out, “Oh, he’s just sleeping.”

She frowned immediately, wondering why in the world she just said that and how Thor could actually be sleeping standing up, but it was too late. The young man took it in stride (she imagined he had probably seen a number of odd cases over the last few days), and quipped—

“He looks dead.” 

Thor did not respond and Darcy opened her mouth, inhaling, but the young man held up the device to begin the check-out process. He tapped the screen, “Name?”

“Uh, Darcy.”

“Full name, please.”

She froze for a solid second and then tucked her hands under her armpits to hide the shaking, her mind scrounging for a name to offer. “Darcy… Barnes? Darcy Barnes.”

“Address?”

She didn’t think it would be smart to give away the address they were staying at, and it wasn’t like she even knew it in the first place. But the young man was staring at her now, expectantly, and Thor was still playing dead, so she hummed out a rushed, “P. Sherman, forty-two B Baker Street, New York City one-oh-one-six-six.”

He went to write down the address and then paused, like what she had just said actually registered, and his dark eyes flicked up. His face was a blank mask and Darcy’s heart thumped hard in her chest.

She was preparing an excuse in her brain, pulling phrases and words out of anywhere she could, when he merely shook his head and lifted one brow, stepping aside.

“Do better next time. I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

Darcy did not argue with that.

She grabbed Thor’s arm and tugged him along behind her, having to use real muscle to do so. Pushing past the bottlenecked crowd at the registers, she caught sight of the exit and felt a rush of glee.

“ _Oh, thank God_. C’mon, Dude, we are almost there!” Darcy cried happily.

And then everything went to hell.

* * *

“Did you find anything?” Steve leaned down, his hand gripping the back of the chair that Natasha was sitting in as she furiously typed away at a computer. Her face was pinched in fierce concentration, illuminated by the screen in front of her.

“It’s all encrypted.”

“Can’t you normally get into that sort of thing?”

“Normally, yes,” Natasha murmured with a touch of frustration. Symbols flew across the screen that Steve could not understand but Natasha certainly did by the way her shoulders tightened. She pursed her lips, “This looks like Fury’s personal touch. It would take me a solid day to work through the firewalls.”

“He always was paranoid,” Steve said with no real venom. “What about exporting it and bringing it with you?”

Natasha stopped typing and looked over her shoulder at him, answering flatly. “It’s tied to the SHIELD server, I can’t just take that with me.”

Steve frowned, his eyes returning to the screen. They had made it to the SHIELD base by eight that morning and had taken extreme precautions upon entering. Natasha had scanned the building for heat signatures and it came up blank, which should have been a relief. 

It should have been a relief, except Steve was left itching for a good fight.

He and Clint had gone off to raid any weapons SHIELD had hidden away, moving it all quickly to the car outside, while Natasha made a beeline for the tech. None of them had been particularly hopeful that she would find anything, so when she pulled up a file that had no label except for the symbol from Fury’s pager, it had felt like a victory.

Until it wasn’t.

“Well,” Steve started even as she continued to attempt to get into the file, “we can’t stay here too long.” He looked around the ghost town of a base and something about it made his skin crawl. 

“Steve, if I had more time I could—”

“Hey guys?”

Both Natasha and Steve turned to see Clint approaching from the deep shadows, his face drawn and his eyes seemed very big as they blinked in the darkness. 

“What is it?” Steve took a small step forward.

Clint squinted and opened his mouth, freezing like that for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I found something weird,” he said at last and then widened his eyes even further, “and I’m saying that as someone who worked for SHIELD for over twenty years.”

“Clint—”

A soft jingling sound cut off whatever Natasha was going to say and Clint stiffened. Steve’s eyes dropped to Clint’s feet, catching the movement as something weaved between the archers legs.

Natasha slowly stood from her chair.

“Is that…” She started and then made a face, her voice incredulous. “You found a cat?”

The small, orange fluffy creature sat at Clint’s feet and stared up at the Black Widow serenely. It was striped and soft looking and Steve had no fucking clue what it was doing at an undercover SHIELD base.

“Guess what’s on his collar?” Clint asked suddenly and Steve just shook his head, at a complete loss for words. The archer’s brows lifted, “It’s the symbol from the pager.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“I shit you not.”

Steve felt frozen in place, distantly wondering if this was all a dream. Next to him, Natasha gestured at the cat, “Flip it over, what’s on the other side?”

“Already did,” Clint told them. “It just says ‘Goose’.”

They all fell quiet for a moment. Well, it would have been quiet if it weren’t for the soft purring from the feline. 

Clint scratched the side of his head, grimacing, “Listen, I’m not saying Fury was calling for help from a cat but… okay, I _am_ saying Fury was calling for help from a cat,” he threw his hands in the air. “Do we—I mean, do we bring him with us?”

Steve looked down at the tiny, helpless creature and got the eerie feeling of something entirely different staring back at him. 

“I guess.”

For some reason, Clint looked a fair bit happy about that decision. He gingerly bent down and scratched at the cat’s ears, which seemed greatly welcomed by the feline if the increase in purring and the way it pushed it’s head into the archer’s hand was anything to go by.

“He is kind of cute,” Clint admitted and then glanced up sharply, “Do you think he’ll have an issue with Groot?”

“Why would the cat have an issue with Groot?” Natasha asked with a shake of her head and Clint rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious.

“Because he might be viewed as a very large, moving scratching post.”

“I’m sure it will be f—“

_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

Steve’s stomach plummeted as he dug into his pocket for the comm, the one only to be used in an emergency, the one that was a desperate, last minute plea for help. One glance at the screen was all he needed. His face hardened, hiding the panic swelling in his stomach. Both Clint and Natasha had gone very still.

“It’s Thor,” Steve said, his voice sharp, “Grab the cat. We’re leaving.”

* * *

Looking back, Darcy should have known it would never have been this easy. Nothing was easy anymore. 

Nothing would be easy ever again.

“ _Oh, thank God._ C’mon Dude, we’re almost there!” Darcy cried happily, leaning down on the cart’s handle bar to push it with extra force. 

They were only feet away from the door and she could see the warm sunlight pouring in to meet them when it suddenly disappeared—like someone had snuffed out a candle and darkened the sun entirely. It didn’t register in her mind at first what was about to happen, not until the massive alien creature ducked down into the store, pushing its bulk through the entrance with a deadly silence. 

In its hands a large pick-ax like weapon that was almost as big as Thor and twice as wide.

Darcy choked back a strangled scream, her hands wrenching on the cart, tendons bone white in her knuckles as she dragged it to a squeaking stop. Her veins flooded with complete and utter panic and for a terrifying heartbeat, she could do nothing but stare up at the creature.

 _Fuck_ , Darcy thought. _Oh fuck_. 

She _knew_ that weapon—she knew this fucking thing, had looked into its flat, reptilian eyes once before and by sheer chance had lived.

When another presence joined it, this one tall and thin with ghostly skin and spindly limbs that moved with a warrior’s grace, Darcy would swear her heart stopped. Behind her, she felt Thor approach, his hand very carefully and very slowly reached out to wrap solidly around her wrist. 

The smaller alien looked up at its counterpart and rolled its shoulders and all Darcy heard was the soft order around needle sharp teeth, “Round them up.”

It was as if at the sound of those words someone had pressed play on a movie that had been paused for so long; Darcy could finally hear the screams of terror and shouts and people scrambling to flee for their lives over the rushing blood in her ears. 

“Darcy,” Thor was hissing lowly and she realized she didn’t know how long he had been trying to get her attention. She stood, dumbly, as the creatures split up and began to move through the store. “Leave it, we must go— _now_.”

A tug on her wrist was all that it took for her to release the cart and back away.

Thor pulled her with him and steadily made his way to the other door on the opposite side of the store. Darcy limped in a hop-skip sort of way to keep up with his long strides, her feet aching slightly. The god’s mouth was pulled tight, his expression a cold, desperate fury beneath the sunglasses he wore as he marched them along. His hand was a manacle on Darcy’s wrist.

Somewhere, deep in the store, a round of gunshots popped off followed by a deafening crash and more screams—of both pain and fear. Darcy ducked out of instinct, covering her head, unable to stop the shriek that tore from her throat. Thor pulled Darcy into his side, wrapping his body around hers and increased his pace as they made for the exit.

But they were too late.

They made it to door just as a third creature appeared and Thor skidded to a stop, flinching back, like he had been struck, inhaling sharply.

The female turned her horned head slowly, her face expressionless. Her eyes flitted over the two of them and when they landed on Darcy, they narrowed.

“I know you,” she said and her voice sounded robotic, almost mechanical in its tones and so much more frightening that Darcy had remembered. She stayed tucked into Thor but her body trembled, her breathing shallow and shaking with panic. All she could do was shake her head and the female looked disgusted. “Have you now lost the ability to speak along with your mind?”

Darcy did not answer. She couldn't make herself open her mouth.

The female’s dark gaze slid to Thor for a long moment and his muscles stiffened under her scrutiny. Eventually her lips twisted.

“Move.”

She extended a long spear with a curved tip, using it to push them out the door into the parking lot and for a moment, Darcy was confused. They stumbled out into the bright sunlight and she had the ridiculous urge to run but that was crushed by the sight of the mass of armed creatures making an inescapable perimeter for all who were exiting the store. 

It was a cage, a corral, she thought distantly, and they were the animals.

In the center of it all stood another huge, bulking creature; skin the color of a bruise and a face that was carved from stone—set and unyielding. Beside her, Thor had gone deathly still and Darcy felt the tingling of electricity begin to slide over her skin, radiating from the man next to her.

Her eyes slid down to the giant’s hand, encased in a golden glove and instantly, her face paled with the drowning horror.

“ _Thor_ …” 

“Don’t say a word,” Thor spoke, his voice very weak and she had never heard it weak before. He audibly swallowed, like something was stuck in his throat, and then murmured, “Follow the crowds.”

Her head whipped around to see the masses of scared, crying people flooding out of the Walmart exits, into the parking lot. Mothers clutched their children and some people were begging for mercy and all Darcy could think was that they were being herded—like sheep to the slaughter—and a deep, cruel, dread slid through her skin, wrapping around her bones in a cold terror.

“Are they going to kill us?” A woman asked, her voice high pitched and laced in a shaking sort of fear, the kind where you knew what was going to happen but could do nothing to stop it.

Darcy looked at her, at all the others as they pressed in closer, filling the space until it was a mob of frightened people. The air was swollen with shouts and her world was spinning, spinning, spinning, even as Thor reached into his pocket and pulled out a device she had never seen before. She watched, almost detached from her body, as he discreetly pressed a button on it until a red light appeared and then replaced it back in his pocket.

The creatures fencing them in on the edges of the crowd, as if commanded by some unspoken signal, stepped forward, forcing the mob of people even tighter together. Someone bumped into Darcy’s back and Thor grabbed her before she could fall, pulling her directly in front of his massive frame.

Thanos, because there was no denying who this was, watched them all with a peaceful sort of gaze before slanting a look to the slim, almost delicate alien beside him.

That was all the order it needed.

“Greetings,” the alien cried out in a clear voice that was made for speaking in stadiums. He stepped forward and held up a hand serenely. “Fear not; we come with glad tidings. You are among the blessed for at this moment, your eyes gaze upon greatness. The Great Titan, Thanos, has come to bring you into true liberation. He has made the sacrifice that has saved us all and today… you are presented with an opportunity. Your heroes, the Avengers, failed you."

Next to her, Thor’s fists slowly clenched and she wrapped her hands around one of his. A silent, desperate plea to not do anything stupid. 

“They could not stop the inevitable and now hide like cowards in this city. Each of you will leave this place and spread the word, tell all: the Avengers must come forward and turn themselves in by this time tomorrow. To accept their fate.”

Silence, and then from somewhere to the right—

“And if they don’t?”

Darcy’s head whipped around and she saw the burning gaze, the hard set of determination of the young National Guardsman that had helped them through check out. His nose was bloody and his lip swollen—as though he had already put up a fight and lost.

The creature tilted its head at him. “Do you wish to set an example?” It asked, its voice dangerously soft, and then it fucking _smiled_. “I would be honored to grant such a wish.”

Two of the armed creatures broke away from their post and pushed through the crowds, violently shoving people out of their way. They grabbed the young man and he fought their attempt to take him but it was useless. Darcy turned and pressed her face into Thor’s side with a gasp, her fist twisting the material of his shirt.

The young man was dragged up to the front, more or less dangling in the creatures arms. Darcy’s eyes screwed shut and she pressed her lips together, trying not to make a sound. She didn’t see what happened but she heard it, there was a sickening crunch, a solid thud, and horrified screams. She jerked hard and hot tears slid down her cheeks.

Somewhere, a baby was crying.

The crowd let out a collective gasp and Darcy tore her face out of the hidden safety of Thor. The twin wet lines running down her cheeks turned cold in the breeze. Thanos was blurry in her vision and she blinked, more hot tears slipped down her face to gather at her jaw, and he became clearer as he stepped forward.

It was then that Darcy noticed, incredulously, the number of goddamn fucking idiots who were recording this asshole’s ultimatum on their phones. Her blood began to buzz with anger that was a _fire_.

“If the Avengers do not turn themselves in tomorrow," began Thanos and his voice sounded like it was made of thunder and blood and smoke. It was cruel and ancient in a way Darcy had never known. He let his gaze drift over the mass of people, "Then I will kill fifty humans, be they man, woman, or child every day until they do.”

Darcy’s body froze while Thor lurched forward involuntarily, a guttural sound tearing from his throat, as if he could not hold himself back any longer and she grabbed at him frantically, pulling on him with all of her might.

" _Nononononono_ —"

Thor stopped, his shoulders moving harshly with his breathing, and Darcy’s eyes flew to Thanos, but thankfully the giant hadn’t seen the mistake.

The creature next to Thanos, the one who was his mouthpiece, however, had. 

It was staring directly at them and its eyes were nothing but slits as they landed on Thor and then, she watched as they widened in something that could only be described as recognition.

Darcy’s stomach plummeted in a primal sort of fear. She clutched Thor’s arm, she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to stall for time. She wanted to stop time. 

It stared at them for what felt like centuries and Darcy had never been a praying person but she prayed then, begging, pleading, with any deity. There were no words, no decipherable eloquence, just raw desperation.

And then, as if in answer to her prayers, the creature very purposefully turned away.

“Tell your family, your friends,” Thanos was saying and Darcy blinked slowly, her breath coming short as her vision spun. “Tell every being you can so that the Avengers know what inescapable blood will be on their hands if they do not surrender. Go, we will not stop you.”

The crowd hesitated, cautious at first, clearly not trusting the promise. And then one person broke away, giving a horrified glance at the scene, and turned, running frantically to their vehicle.

After that, it was a free for all.

The crowd surged and then exploded, like a bomb had been detonated and they were the debris. Thor was an immovable object in the chaos, the swarm of desperate, terrified people. He pushed through, never giving his back to Thanos, as he guided them to the car. It took Darcy five attempts to unlock it and then Thor was pushing her in, nearly slamming her legs in the door in his haste.

His door opened a second later and Darcy started the car and all but threw it into reverse. She wanted to speed out of there like a bat out of hell, but doing so was impossible with all of the people running and the cars shoving their way through.

As she waited, sucking in air, terror still lacing her bones, she glanced at Thor, her voice very small. “What do we do?”

The god tore the wig from his head, throwing it on the floorboard along with the sunglasses and the stupid pillow strapped to him. He jerkily removed the sweater from his shoulders, ripping the fabric and Darcy did not miss the way his hands shook or the sparks of glowing, white electricity that flew out of them. When she finally was able to back up and pull out of the parking lot, he breathed out a grief stricken—

“ _I should have gone for the head_."

* * *

Golden sunlight pierced through the window, the glass softening the brightness in a way that, to Bruce, felt like a warm friend. He smiled sweetly at the sight, at how it stretched its pale fingers, reaching as deeply as it could into the living room. Small particles of dust floated through the air, caught in the beams of light, and for the first time since the Snap, Bruce Banner felt a small measure of peace.

His hands cupped the mug, tendrils of steam lifted from his tea like a cobra would for a snake charmer. Groot sat on the ground facing the open window, as he did every morning. The tree’s eyes were closed and his wooden body motionless and tranquil as he soaked up the energy from the sun.

Some mornings, Bruce joined him. 

He was considering doing so today, given that the house was empty and it would do the scientist some good to let his mind drift a bit. That choice, however, was taken from him the moment the _TeleThor_ began blaring an obnoxiously loud alarm.

A jolt shot through Bruce and he jerked, spilling piping hot tea all over his hand. Hissing, he set the cup down and shook his hand, running over to the _TeleThor_. 

Picking up the handheld portion of the device, Bruce searched for an off button to stop the cacophony. There was a myriad of buttons to choose from and, in his panic, Bruce hit a combination of them all at once.

The sirens died down and he looked up in surprise, sighing in relief… and then the _TeleThor_ began to whir, reminding him of an old record player powering up.

His muscles tensed as he eyed the strange machine, albeit a little terrified of what it might choose to do next. Groot cautiously approached from the side and Bruce motioned for him to stay back when a voice rolled out from some hidden speaker on the machine.

“ _Is this thing on?_ ”

Bruce felt the blood drain from his face and he staggered backwards violently, tripping over his own feet until he landed _hard_ on the floor. Groot moved to help him but Bruce flung an arm out, his face twisting in disbelief.

He knew that voice. He would know that voice _anywhere,_ even if it was scratchy and crackling and barely audible. Staring at the _TeleThor_ in wild desperation, Bruce scrambled gracelessly to his feet, a mass of flailing arms and legs, and ran to it right as a second message arrived. 

“ _Hey, Miss Potts._ ”

Everything went very still and Bruce's heart seized in his chest painfully. Something inside of the scientist cracked at those words; he tore off his glasses, throwing them from his face as he collapsed partially onto the table and began to sob like a child.

Outside, a little blue bird perched on a low branch and sang its morning song, low, and sweet, and clear and the sun shone all the brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stan by the fact that Goose is one of the greatest characters in all of Marvel history and would have fucked up Thanos if given the chance. You can’t change my mind… also, is this becoming a crack!fic? It might be XD This was a chapter that I really enjoyed writing from beginning to end. I think because it is launching us into a new phase and that is always fun. I’ve got a hell of a lot of things planned and plotted out and if I can pull all of this off, I’ll be very proud lmao.
> 
> I want to take a moment and say, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. You all take time out of your day to read, kudo, comment, etc, on insane ideas of mine and it just feels so wonderful to get to create not just by myself but with friends. So this, dear readers, is for you. Don’t forget to check out the [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) for fun sneak peeks and manips!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this update. This chapter was like pulling teeth to try and write, ha. So, enjoy my dentist visit.

“Did it work, Mr. Stark?”

“You know,” Tony started with a grunt, the glowing eyes of his Iron Man mask fading as he powered off his helmet and sat back. He slanted a glance at the teen in his grungy looking t-shirt. “Maybe if you ask me another six times, I’ll suddenly know the answer.”

Peter’s brows creased and he tilted his head. He was looking even thinner than his usual gangly self and not for the first time since the ship officially became stranded, Tony was afraid. 

Fear to him was a dwindling food storage, the pale glow of the craft as they floated in an abyss of dead air, the increasing sharpness of Peter’s cheekbones. Fear was somehow managing to keep the kid alive up until this point only to watch him slowly die, victim to an enemy Tony could not fight.

Swallowing, the billionaire squinted at his portion of food next to him and picked it up. He sighed, a touch on the dramatic side, “God, you know what? I had this dream the other night, crazy dream, where I was back in New York after the whole alien invasion. I had the best meal—a giant plate of shawarma. You ever had shawarma?” When Peter shook his head, eyes big and round and so goddamn young, Tony nodded. “Good stuff,” he glanced down at his meal for the day and picked up the silver package it was in. “So good in fact, I think I’m stuffed. Why don’t you take this before it goes bad?”

Without waiting for a reply, Tony tossed the package Peter’s way and the teen caught it out of reflex more than anything else. Peter looked down at the food for a long moment and then slowly lifted his gaze and there was a touch of steel there.

“I know what you’re doing, Mr. Stark.”

A beat of silence.

“Yeah, well, don’t tell the newspapers. I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

Peter shook his head, his lips pinching together. “I’m not taking—”

“Let me do this, Peter,” Tony bit out, the words sharp and cutting and Peter flinched. Sighing, Tony wet his lips, softening his tone, “Just this once, let me…” he stopped and shook his head, starting again, “Don’t fight me on this, kid. Please eat the food.”

For a long time, Peter just stared at him, sadness etched into the lines of the teen’s face.

Tony sighed in relief when he gave in and very quietly began picking at the food. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and simply breathed while Peter ate in silence… well, _almost_ in silence.

“Shouldn’t we leave that on?” Tony peeked an eye open and turned his head, lifting his brows in response. Peter finished chewing his food and swallowed, pointing at the decimated Iron Man helmet. “In case someone is able to reply—y’know, the other Avengers.”

“We don’t have the power. I’m trying to save all that we can here.”

“Just saying it might be a good idea since you _just_ sent out the SOS. At least to leave it on for a little bit in case they do receive the message and use its signal to track our location.”

Tony fell quiet as he considered the idea and found that it wasn’t half bad. Peter was staring at him, cheeks bulging with food (as they fucking should be), a vulnerable sort of hope shining in his eyes as he waited.

The billionaire wondered if Peter understood what it felt like to have someone stare at you as though everything you did or said carried the weight of not just the universe, but _their_ universe. It was heavier than Tony had ever imagined, but love often was. 

“That’s a good idea, kid,” Tony told him after a long moment, his voice unusually thick and Peter’s face brightened in a youthful grin.

“So… you think it worked, then?” 

Tony said nothing but the flat look he gave the teen was impressive. Peter pursed his lips and looked down at his food, muttering to it. “Well, _I_ think it worked.”

* * *

It was like living inside of a megaphone.

For most people, shock was a creeping sort of numbness that seeped into the skin, the tendons, the muscles, the bones, and finally making its way to the soul, disconnecting it from the world—cutting the tethers that tied it to the earth, leaving it aimless and free-floating. They said it was a thick, white, never-ending fog and in it, time slowed, sounds muted. But, for Darcy, it was the opposite. She was aware of _everything_.

The hard thump, thump, thump of her heart trying to tear its way out of her ribcage, the quiet hum of the car’s engine, the involuntary tremble encasing her quickened inhales and exhales. Every slight movement had her blood jumping beneath her skin, twitchy and ready to bolt. Distantly, her phone was pinging with alerts. It had been going off nonstop almost the entire drive back. 

Neither she nor Thor reached for it.

The drive back to the safe house was… tense.

Thor didn’t say a word and Darcy, quite honestly, was afraid to. The air in the small space between them was electrified and it slid over her skin in invisible waves, lifting the delicate hairs on her arms. She knew that whatever grief Thor had felt moments before had transformed into white, hot, volcanic rage. He glared out the windshield, a brooding mountain, jaw clenched, every line of his body strung tight—like he was about to break.

She parked the car quietly on the street and Thor hurried her off the road and into the safe house, his massive body a looming presence on her heels the entire way. Warmth flooded out to meet her as she opened the door and Darcy paused for a moment, just one moment, and simply breathed in its sweet embrace.

That moment did not last.

“ _Damnit!_ C’mon, work with me.”

Her eyes widened and Thor bodily pushed past her, his arm brushing against her shoulder. She followed the god into the sunlit living room, the corners of her mouth turning downward at the sight of Bruce (and a very confused Groot) hovering frantically over the _TeleThor_.

“Bruce?” Thor’s voice was a knife’s edge and the scientist’s head snapped up in surprise.

Tears on Bruce’s cheeks caught the light, illuminating like twin veins of silver against his skin. Darcy glanced down to see his glasses lying on the ground before her feet; thankfully unbroken. She bent down and carefully picked them up, holding them out to him.

Bruce watched her and swallowed hard. He did not move to take them. 

“What happened?” Thor took a heavy step forward.

There was a long moment of quiet and then Bruce gasped out two words that reminded Darcy that not all tears were born of sorrow; some of them were forged in hope.

“Tony’s alive.”

* * *

Bruce played back the message three times in a row. Darcy had never met Tony, had only ever joked about him with Jane, but each time the sound of his voice crackled through the _TeleThor’s_ speaker, her heart lifted its face to the sun and _sang_. There were no words to the music in her soul but it sang nonetheless. 

Tony Stark had somehow survived. 

_Son of a bitch._

“Do you remember anything, _anything_ Jane might have mentioned about tracking coordinates?”

Darcy snapped back to herself and stared at Bruce. Her brows pinched together tightly and she wracked her brain for an answer but the only thing her mind seemed to want to do was flicker through painful images of a smiling, light-filled, very-much-alive Jane. Eventually all that Darcy could do was shake her head. The scientist nodded easily, like it was the answer he expected and for some reason, that response stung. 

Something inside of Darcy prickled.

Inhaling deeply, she eyed the _TeleThor_ in Bruce’s grip, her best friend’s creation—birthed out of the mind of a genius and while Darcy was in no way a genius, she _knew_ Jane better than just about anyone. She narrowed her eyes at it and held out her hand. When he hesitated she wiggled her fingers impatiently. Slowly, he offered it to her and Darcy promptly took its weight in her hands and turned on her heel, banging it in three quick, explosive successions on the table.

Bruce lunged for the machine with a strangled gasp. “ _Darcy_ —”

She held up a firm hand, her eyes unusually hard.

“You asked me what Jane would do and, well, this is what Jane would do,” Darcy told him brusquely before whacking it another two times (the scientist winced as though it was his head making contact with the wood, not the machine).

“I am Groot?”

“She is alright, Tree,” Thor rumbled behind her, his voice utterly serious. “This is science.”

“Actually, these things usually require more delicate measures…”

Darcy lifted her eyes from where they had been squinting at the handheld portion of the _TeleThor_ and she gave Bruce a very even look. “Then you clearly never knew Jane.”

Behind her there was a choked sort of laugh that was covered with a light cough. A corner of Darcy’s lips pulled upwards unintentionally, like it was drawn by a puppet’s string. Thor understood—though Jane was tiny in stature, built like a bird with fine features, nothing about the _woman_ was delicate and the same went for her methods. Bruce didn’t respond and Darcy glanced back down to the machine. Distantly, she knew she would probably end up apologizing to Bruce later, but right now she was stressed as hell and scared and being polite could go fuck itself for all that Darcy cared.

Despite his initial reaction, they all—Bruce included—waited for a few moments of quiet to see if by some miracle Jane’s wonky methods worked. But when the screen remained dark, Darcy tried not to let the falling of her heart show on her face.

It was cruel, almost, to have Tony so close and yet so unreachable.

With a silent sigh, she started to hand the _TeleThor_ back to Bruce, a hot flush gathering in her cheeks. “I guess it’s—”

_Ding._

Darcy froze. It was as if everything in that room existed inside that small, infinitesimal sound. Her heart stuttered as the screen slowly illuminated in a soft, green glow. Darcy’s eyes dropped down to the _TeleThor_ with a rush of exhilaration, flicking over the information.

“We have coordinates,” she breathed out and then her head snapped up to the others, eyes wide in disbelief, she said again, louder—“We have _coordinates!_ ”

In a flurry, Bruce, Thor, and Groot crowded in over her shoulders, all eyes on the _TeleThor_. Darcy was dancing from foot to foot in jittery excitement and Thor had to place a heavy, steadying hand on her shoulder to hold her still enough so they could read the information. She twisted, looking over her shoulder at the God of Thunder with a huge, open smile. In his eyes was a growing light, a tentative thing but it shone true.

“Can you find him?” Darcy asked and Thor’s eyes flicked to hers.

There was a long moment of silence and then he nodded very slowly.

“Yes, I believe so.” 

Bruce lifted his head and stared at Thor—they all did, even Groot. Despite his claim, the god’s face became pensive. 

“What is it?” Bruce finally asked.

Thor didn’t answer, instead, his eyes slid to Darcy’s and she had never carried the burden of duty before but she knew instantly what he was asking, what he didn’t have the words for, and she nodded. Even as her knees felt like they might buckle beneath it all.

“You have to go,” she said quietly and her voice wasn’t quite shaking. The god inhaled, his entire being somehow growing bigger in that moment, and Darcy shook her head before he could object. “I’ll tell them. You go and bring Tony back, this—this is the kind of thing you were _made_ for, Thor. We need you… we’ll,” she stopped and thought for a moment, carefully choosing her words. “We’ll figure the rest out.”

When still he hesitated, Darcy gave him a soft, barely there smile and it did not reach her eyes at all because if she was honest… she didn’t want Thor to leave. Thor leaving was quiet possibly the last thing in the world that she wanted. A very small but very angry (or was it just scared?) part of her was shouting: _what if he doesn’t come back?_

She had already lost Jane. She didn’t know if she would survive losing Thor as well. 

Angrily, Darcy shoved those thoughts away because now was not the time. If she was going to hang with the Supers, with these people who made the hard choices every single goddamn day, then she was eventually going to have to make some of her own. 

“ _Go_ ,” she reiterated with no small amount of force and this time there was true strength there.

As if reading her internal struggle, Thor buckled down, “I would not abandon—”

“Yeah,” Darcy cut him off with a firm shake of her head, “but only _you_ can bring Tony home. No one else. Just—just you. If you don’t go, then we lose anyway.”

For a few moments, she and Thor just looked at each other and Darcy felt the weight grow heavier upon her shoulders. Finally, something in the god gave way and he nodded. “I will fetch my things.”

Thor turned and left on swift feet and Bruce watched him before glancing back to Darcy, his expression wary. “Care to fill me in?”

Darcy’s phone pinged again and she winced. The adrenaline that had been pumping through her veins began to fade into exhaustion and her entire world felt out of balance. Pulling her cell from her pocket she pressed her thumb over the home button to unlock it with her fingerprint before handing it to Bruce. She didn’t need to look at it to know why it had been sounding off since the moment they left Wal-Mart. It never took much for the Avengers to start trending on social media and this… well, this was the kind of fucked up news that people went batshit crazy over.

They would eat it up.

“Shit went down at the grocery store. Get on Twitter and watch the video,” Darcy told Bruce wearily. “I’m sure someone caught it.”

When Bruce began playing the video, she left the room. Her mind provided a much more thorough replay for her anyway. It wasn’t the type of thing she would be forgetting anytime soon.

_Jesus, what a fucking day._

Darcy moved into the kitchen and made a beeline for the coffee maker even though it was approaching the middle of the afternoon. She scooped the grounds into a thin paper filter and filled the machine with the appropriate amount of water, her movements focused and precise. The cabinet was thrown open and she snagged a plain white mug from it as the coffee pot boiled and bubbled. It was strange to have such a normal soundtrack to such a surreal part of her life.

Sucking in a bracing breath, Darcy set down the mug and gripped the edge of the counter, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. Her lips parted as she exhaled slowly. Tear pricked in her eyes and a hot lump began to fill in her throat. Hope and fear waged a war within her mind, twisting together until she couldn’t tell which was which.

“I am… Groot?”

Blinking, her head snapped to the sentient tree who had snuck up behind her and was pressing his index finger to his cheek, twisting it back and forth, asking with a sweet sort of optimism for candy. Darcy’s face crumpled and she offered him a sad smile, blinking away her tears. 

“I’m sorry, Groot,” she told him as she gave him the sign for sorry. “We had the Skittles but got interrupted.”

Groot slowly dropped his hand, devastated. Darcy watched him, hearing the coffee pot beep distantly.

“I know, buddy,” she sighed and reached to pat his shoulder in sympathy. “Me, too. All I wanted was some damn groceries but apparently that’s not allowed in the apocalypse.”

The look of heartbreak on the tree’s face was enough to make Darcy reconsider returning to the store. Pressing her lips together, she turned and spooned a bit of the powdered creamer in the bottom of her mug before pouring herself a cup of the steaming liquid. 

Her brows pulled tight as she mixed her coffee. Outside, the sun was shining a pale spring light and she stared out the window in silence, wrapping her fingers around the piping hot mug. She lifted it and swallowed a few mouthfuls of the scalding coffee, relishing in the way it burned a path down her throat, letting her feel something other than the hurricane under her skin.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Bruce appearing in the doorway of the kitchen, her phone held loosely in his hand; his face was very pale.

“I know,” was all Darcy could bring herself to say.

* * *

Darcy was beginning to realize that Steve Rogers wasn’t the kind of man to just shake things up; he was a goddamn tsunami.

She had been curled up on the couch, feet tucked under her, head resting on her folded arms, taking a short nap as the events of the day had finally caught up with her when the front door nearly flew off its hinges. Bolting straight up, wide-eyed and alert, Darcy gasped, whirling around, her heart leaping in her throat.

“What happened?” Steve snapped, his voice hard as he marched into the living room before her mind even registered his sudden appearance. Behind him, Natasha and Clint filed in, silent and deadly, armed to the teeth. Steve’s burning blue eyes flickered over her quickly and then landed back on her face, “We got the alert.”

Darcy took a moment and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Yeah, you’re gonna want to sit down,” she started but then saw the look on Steve’s face and added quickly, “or don’t. Standing is just fine.”

“Where’s Thor?” 

Her heart lurched painfully and she pressed her lips together. Swallowing, Darcy tried her best to keep her voice even. “It’s a long story but to sum it up… Tony’s alive, Thor left to go find him and bring him back, and we ran into Thanos and his cronies at the grocery store—is that a cat?”

Darcy blinked at the orange ball of fluff contentedly resting in Clint’s arms and she swore it blinked back at her. Her mouth fell open and there were so many questions she wanted to ask, but Steve had gone deathly still.

He stared at her with no small amount of alarm, like she had sucked the oxygen from his lungs and then sucker-punched him right in the gut.

“Tony’s…” Steve’s throat worked even as no words came out, until finally—“he’s alive?”

Something about the way Steve asked that question broke Darcy’s heart. 

“The _TeleThor_ picked up an SOS from Tony after all of you had left,” Bruce’s voice floated from the stairwell and they all turned to watch as he joined them. He stared at the Captain with a look that said much more than his words ever would. “It was Tony, Steve.”

Behind Steve, Clint put the cat on the ground and turned to Natasha, pulling her into his arms with a soft, “C’mere Tash.”

Darcy watched as the Black Widow let herself be held, she leaned against the archer, closing her eyes, her face crumpling with a rare show of emotion. At their feet, the cat stretched and then darted across the floor to go explore.

Bruce send the redhead a soft, understanding look and then turned back to Steve, “After Darcy and Thor returned, we were able to figure out the coordinates and location. Thor left about an hour ago to bring him home.”

The god had left with a firm promise that he would be back but Darcy had cried anyway. She could still feel the press of his lips on the top of her head, could still hear see the flashes of light and energy that took him from this world. Not long after, Bruce had retreated to his room, the scientist even quieter than usual.

Steve stood there, frozen, looking for all the world like he hadn’t allowed himself to hope in a millennia and now that it was staring him in the face, he didn’t even recognize it or know what to do with it.

“And Thanos?” He finally asked, turning dazed but worried eyes to Darcy. “Please tell me that was a joke and if it was, don’t ever joke like that again.”

“I wish it was,” Darcy told him quietly with a soft laugh that tasted bitter and dark on her tongue. Her fingers twisted together in her lap and she stared down at them. “There was no warning and it was just dumb luck that Thor and I were there. They… they surrounded the store and forced everyone out into the parking lot where he was waiting. I thought,” she said and then stopped, clearing her throat, “I thought we were going to die. They killed a kid, I mean, he was a young man but… they killed him right there. There’s video of everything and you can watch it later because it’s all over social media but—Thanos gave an ultimatum,” Darcy lifted her gaze and stared at Steve and the others, her stomach twisting. “The whole thing was a stunt to get the word out. He said that the Avengers must surrender and turn themselves in or, starting tomorrow, he will kill fifty innocent people every day until you do.”

The words left her mouth and she felt sick as she said them, like she was a messenger of death, even as her mind replayed Thanos’ voice, even as the knowledge had been hers for some hours now, it didn’t make it any easier, any better.

“What are we doing, Cap?” Clint was the first to speak and there was a glint in his eyes that was waiting to be fanned into flame.

Steve was quiet, his brows furrowed deeply in thought. He was shaking his head, “He’s still got the stones—”

“—we don’t even have Thor, we’d be slaughtered—”

“—if we don’t do something, then fifty people will be,” Clint stared hard at Bruce and then turned to Steve, his jaw set. “I don’t need your permission.”

“You’re still injured, Clint,” Natasha voiced and Clint glanced at her over his shoulder with no small amount of betrayal.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t fight, you of all people know that.”

“Thanos is set up right in Central Park,” Steve said suddenly and the others looked at him in surprise. After a moment, he continued, “He’s got sentries posted around his camp, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

_I don’t sleep much these days._

His words flashed back to her and Darcy frowned wondering for the first time just how often Steve snuck around the city in the dead of night. 

“Even if we have more weapons now,” Steve was talking again, “it wouldn’t help. We need _more_.”

“More what?” Clint snapped, his teeth baring as he spoke. “We can’t sacrifice people— _families_ —to this sick fuck.”

“None of us want people to die, Clint,” Natasha tried to reason, though her eyes were locked on Steve, like she was seeing something no one else could. “But we need to fight smart.”

Clint stared at her, coiling like a snake, and beneath all of his anger, there was a wrenching sort of pain just under the surface. Darcy could see it staring back out of his eyes if she looked hard enough. “Don’t do this Nat, don’t do the goddamn double team thing you two are so fucking fond of.”

No one said a word for a few moments, and then Steve spoke, his words echoing like a gavel.

“We wait until daybreak.”

* * *

Above the yellow light of a lone street lamp, Darcy immersed herself in the night. She sat back against cold, immovable stone, pressing against it every now and then to remind herself where she was and that this was all real. She hadn’t come back out on the roof since Clint first arrived and Darcy carefully avoided the areas splotched with the dark stain of his blood. The streets below were quiet, seemingly deserted. The red glow in the sky had faded and the stars shone in between patches of dark cloud. Darcy looked up at them, at the inky blue sky and the twinkling bits of celestial light and her chest tightened.

The clouds were rolling and shifting, like foam on the sea, and yet still Darcy searched. There had to be something beyond the dark cover, wherever Thor was, wherever Jane was. 

She cast her eyes to the night sky, the sweet honeyed moon, drinking it in, letting it fill her soul. The words tumbled out of her mouth, spilling over.

“Janey, if you have any power up there, use it to keep Thor safe and send him back. Please. And maybe… if you have any ideas, send them our way because we’re shit out of luck and I’m scared,” she murmured slowly. “Also, you should know the _TeleThor_ worked. It’s helped us a lot, more than we could have ever guessed. And even though you aren’t—you aren’t here right now, I feel like a part of you is. Thank you,” and then Darcy laughed, the sound almost immediately lost in the void of the encompassing night. “I miss your stupid brilliant self, you know.”

It was an odd thing, the way she almost prayed to her friend these days. But it felt right. It felt right in the ease in which the words fell from her tongue, it felt right in the way that it gave her faith that this wasn’t the end.

And so she didn’t think twice when she spoke again, whispering to the cloud-covered sky above.

“Hey Bucky, next time I think I’ll ask you to keep an eye out for all of us and not just Steve. You seem to be good luck… even if you didn’t really have much luck here on earth, maybe this is the universe paying you back.” Darcy leaned her head back, sad now that nearly all the stars had disappeared behind the thickening haze.

All but one.

This one seemed to be a fighter and it struck Darcy hard, right in the center of her chest, that maybe, just maybe this was the Bucky star. It outlasted all of the others.

She smiled sweetly at it, her heart in her words. “I hope you’ve found some peace wherever you are. You deserve it.”

Even the moon had become blurry and faded and yet, somehow, this lone star found its way through the clouds. Darcy fell quiet after all of that and just existed. 

She sat there for a long time, breathing in the solace and the silence trying not to think about what tomorrow might bring.

Eventually the door leading back into the safe house creaked open and she turned, blinking. Steve’s unmistakable silhouette was illuminated by the warm yellow light behind him and it took less than a second for his sharp eyes to search the area and land on her.

“Hey,” she murmured with a small wave.

Steve stepped out onto the roof, carefully closing the door behind him. When he spoke, his voice was just as soft. “Hey. Mind if I join you?”

Darcy shook her head and he quietly walked over, his steps muted despite the boots he wore. When it became clear that his intent was to sit next to her, Darcy scooted over a tiny bit to make room for his massive form. She watched him with big, round eyes, the question clear on her face. 

“What brings you up here?”

Steve settled on the ground, his wide shoulders rolling back and brushing against her own. He lifted one long leg and bent it at the knee, resting his forearm on it. 

“Two reasons,” he said, staring straight ahead. “One, I wanted to make sure you were okay. It’s been a hell of day for you and with Thor gone… I thought you could use a friend.”

She smiled at that. “What’s the second reason?” 

He looked at her now and his face opened, he answered her very carefully, “The second reason is that I could use a friend, too.”

There was something terribly earnest in his admission and Darcy searched his eyes for a long moment. Finally, she nodded and wet her lips, whispering, “Sounds good to me.”

Steve smiled at her then, not with his lips but with his eyes. They softened in a way that felt hidden, secret, like it was just for her.

_I am not blind to the way Steven looks at you._

Thor’s words flashed through her mind and for the briefest of moments, Darcy let herself believe them. It was hard not to when Steve Rogers was staring at you the way he was staring at her now.

And then, she reached for his hand. 

There was no conscious thought to the action, she was naturally a touchy person and it felt right to reach for him then, to give them both an anchor to hold on to. It was impossible for her hand to completely wrap around his as it rested over his bent knee, but she tried anyway. Callouses scratched in contrast her own delicate skin and there was strength there in the veins and tendons and muscle that she would never know. Steve hadn’t moved, hadn’t breathed, since she touched him and there was a moment of fear, where she wondered if she had done the wrong thing.

Her eyes flickered up to his but he was not looking at her, he was staring down at their hands, the color of his eyes bright and violent and framed in thick, dark lashes. His chest rose with a deep inhale and slowly, oh so slowly, he began to twist and turn his hand until his palm pressed flat against her own, his long fingers lining up with her shorter ones. Darcy watched, fascinated as much by the look on his face as his actions.

As if he had reached a decision, Steve curled his fingers, weaving them between her own, and it was like molasses moving across her skin. Sweet and sticky and _god_ , she wanted more.

His hand engulfed hers and Darcy swallowed audibly. 

Steve’s eyes flashed to hers and she couldn’t breathe. He said ‘friends’ but from the buzzing in her blood, Darcy couldn’t deny that the way he held her hand now felt like something completely different.

The weight of his gaze on her was a physical sensation. She felt it with her whole body; she felt it in her spine, like someone was following the thread of bones and nerves in her back with a finger.

_Holy shit._

She inhaled suddenly, nervous and unsure, and broke the stare, turning her gaze upwards to the heavens. She did not pull her hand away, even when he lowered their hands to rest between the two of them. 

“For someone who is up here to stargaze,” Steve said, finally, “there… really aren’t a lot of stars.”

Darcy snorted, grateful for the subject change. But she shook her head emphatically. “There’s a little one.”

“Where?”

“Right next to the moon,” she used the hand that was still firmly held in Steve’s to point at it, lifting both of their arms simultaneously, leaning her head slightly his direction. “Bottom right, if you squint, you can see it.”

Steve leaned as well, per her direction, his shoulder pressing against hers and Darcy felt like she was back in junior high with the way her cheeks instantly flamed at the innocent touch. Her heart was racing and the wings of a bird fluttered, trapped in the cage of her skin, seeking a way out. 

He searched the sky and Darcy breathed in the sense of his overwhelming presence. When he chuckled, she felt it more than she heard it, a deep rumble that slid over her skin.

“It’s not much to look at.”

“I call it the Bucky star,” she said before she could pull the words back into her mouth and stuff them down her throat.

Next to her, Steve had turned to stone. She expected him to pull away, but instead, she heard him swallow after a beat. His voice was hoarse. “Why’s that?”

“Because,” Darcy frowned, trying to arrange the words in her head in a way that would make sense to them both. She thought back to the things Steve had shared about Bucky that night in the kitchen, the stories he told of this mystery man she had never met but desperately wanted to—even if only to know the man who garnered such love and respect from Steve. The way Steve spoke of Bucky could make anyone want to get to know him. “Because it’s the one that’s always there, even when every other star disappears. It’s there, every night, and it shines despite the darkness it’s surrounded by, despite the mist and the haze and the clouds trying to push it back. It… it always finds a way.”

“He would like that, you know,” Steve told her, his voice very soft, “a pretty dame like you naming stars after him. He’d eat it up.”

“Dame, huh?” Darcy grinned. 

Steve rolled his eyes at her teasing and Darcy grin became a gentle laugh. They fell quiet after that, a strange sort of understanding passing between them. They were only two people in this world, but now they were two people who were no longer alone; two people holding tightly onto each other in more ways than one. 

There was a comfort and a weight in that.

“Do you all have a plan?” Darcy found herself asking. She had left not long after Steve’s declaration of waiting for daybreak, retreating into her own space to try and process.

“Not much has changed. We still wait for dawn. Thor should be back by then—and,” Steve paused here, his brows furrowing, “Tony.”

Darcy looked at him. “And if they aren’t?”

“Then I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

She was quiet and he wouldn’t look at her as she searched the profile of his face. Narrowing her eyes, Darcy shook her head, “Bull _shit_. You do know what you’ll do.”

Steve turned and looked at her then and she saw it clear as day in his eyes, his plan. 

And it fucking terrified her.

“You’re going to turn yourself in if they aren’t here, aren’t you?” When he said nothing in response, her voice rose and she pulled her hand from his, turning her body to face him. “What the hell is that going to solve?”

“It would stop fifty people from dying.”

“Who says Thanos would honor his word? What if he kills people anyway?”

Steve’s jaw ticked and there was something very dark living in his eyes. “I’m running out of options here.”

“Well why does every option have to end with you all dying?”

His eyes flashed to hers and it was like being doused in hot oil—it _burned_ her. “What would you have me do? I’m all ears if you have a better plan.”

Darcy opened her mouth, like she was preparing a speech, but there were no words. She had no suggestions, no bright ideas that would save them all. She wasn’t Jane, she didn’t have strokes of genius. But she knew she didn’t want this man in front of her to die and she knew it with every ounce of her being.

And yet, what hurt the most was the fact that she knew he would willingly throw himself off a cliff if it meant he could save another life.

“I don’t know, Steve,” she said, finally, her voice deflating. “I’m just scared. I wish there was another way and I don’t understand why there isn’t.”

His eyes met hers.

“It’s war.” Steve told her simply. “It was never going to be pretty.”

* * *

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

Ebony Maw blanched at the the easy, mild tone Thanos used. The underlying threat did not slip past his notice. It was laced into every word.

“No, my Lord,” He bowed his head, squinting at the ground before him, “but… I do not understand.” Thanos said nothing and in that, his message was loud and clear. Ebony Maw cleared his throat lightly. “Why not wait as you originally said?”

“This was never just about getting the Avengers to turn themselves in.” Something in Thanos’ gaze began to burn. “It was about sending a _message_.”

Abruptly, Thanos turned his back to Ebony Maw, striding out of the room towards his chambers.

“You have your orders. Bring me the humans.”

* * *

Space was silent. It was silent in a way that made Tony’s skin crawl and itch. He was used to motion, to sound, to constant energy; he was not a man who lived his life on mute. The way that space devoured noise, swallowed it down, was eerie. He could scream his lungs out into the atmosphere and there would be nothing but an endless sea of stillness.

Which was why it was a terrifying shock to be frightened out of sleep to the Peter’s desperate yell of—

“ _Mr. Stark, it worked!_ ”

Tony sat up and shook his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He turned and looked in confusion to where the sound of the voice came from and a jolt shot through him. His breath froze in his lungs.

The God of Thunder stood next to Peter, dwarfing the teen in size, and he was blurry in Tony’s vision (at least until the billionaire blinked away the tears of disbelief). Thor’s looked different than he remembered and wielding a beefy, mean looking axe.

“Thor, is it really—you’re here,” he exclaimed and it was like he had lost his voice entirely. “Am I dreaming?” Tony asked, scrambling clumsily to his feet. “You had hair the last time I saw you.”

Thor moved quickly, helping him and Tony grabbed at the muscled arms, patting his way up to his shoulders with wide, rapidly blinking eyes. The smile Thor gave was a mixture of joy and sorrow, as though he was no longer capable of having one without the other. Thor nodded and spoke the sweetest words Tony had ever heard.

“Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say thank you to all of you who are protesting, speaking out, having difficult conversations with friends and family, donating, posting on social media, and deeply examining your own heart. This is a marathon, if we really want change, it’s going to be a long journey. Take care of yourself in the midst of it, stay safe and smart and refuse to give up. I also want to thank all of the support for this fic. It means more than I have the words to say. Don’t forget to check out the [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) for fun sneak peeks and manips!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, babes, and settle in. This chapter is a doozy… And here… we… go!

She was beginning to wonder if it was the light she was drawn to or him.

Like a moth to a flame, Darcy left her room after a few fruitless hours of attempting sleep (every time she came anywhere close to drifting off, her body would jolt awake, convinced every creak and groan of the house was Thor’s arrival). Her shuffled steps whispered against the wood paneled floor, the lights behind each closed door she passed was on, igniting her path down the hallway to the stairs. 

Apparently she was not the only one who was having trouble sleeping. 

And so the fact that the kitchen was already bathed in a soft yellow didn’t surprise her and neither did the mountain of a man sitting at the heavy wood table with a sketch book resting in his lap.

The scratching of his pencil stopped upon her unannounced entrance and Darcy didn’t turn to look at him, making a beeline for the half empty coffee pot. She felt his eyes on her though, tracking her the entire way, brushing over the back of her neck like a warm puff of breath. It took an immense amount of focus to stop herself from shivering in response. Neither of them said a word as Darcy poured herself a cup of the steaming liquid and after a hesitation, the scratching sound started again.

She kept her back to him but couldn’t help the soft, secret curve of her lips as she mixed her coffee and tapped the metal spoon against the lip of the mug to shake off any spare droplets. Satisfied, she picked up the mug, gripping it tightly with both hands, and turned to lean her hip against the counter.

Steve had angled his sketch book in such a way that she couldn’t see what he was working on but the fact that he continued drawing in her presence felt significant. 

If he knew her eyes were on him, he didn’t show it, and she found that she was very content just to watch him, to study the curves and angles of his face. A lock of blond hair had fallen across his forehead, the tip a lighter yellow than the roots reminding Darcy of a flame, and she itched to brush it back, to see if it was as silky as it looked. His straight brows were creased in concentration, gaze locked on the paper before him; his lips, full and peeking out from his neatly trimmed beard, were pressed together in a firm line. 

There was a certain kind of poetry to Steve’s looks and Darcy stood, transfixed, like one struck by the particular beauty of a painting in a museum.

Without warning, bright blue eyes snapped up and landed on her with the physical force of a gunshot and she very nearly dropped her coffee mug. 

There was a funny little quirk to his mouth and Steve’s brows lifted slightly, “Caught you.”

Darcy blinked in shock, her cheeks instantly ablaze while her mouth simultaneously split into a massive, delighted grin.

“Ugh, _rude_ ,” Darcy chided after she recovered, still not quite believing the sass of the man.

“Says the one caught staring.” Steve snorted. 

She sniffed haughtily. “I can look where I want.” 

Steve leaned back in his seat and tapped his pencil against the edge of his sketchbook. He watched her for a moment, like he was considering something. And then he smiled at her and it was a wicked thing, “Oh, I’m not saying you can’t look, Darcy,” Steve paused and very deliberately gave her a once over. “Just know that you’re not the only one looking.”

Heat bloomed in the center of her stomach.

“Oh,” was all Darcy could say, her lips staying in the perfect ‘O’ shape long after the word left her tongue.

Like the slow drip of sap on a tree, Steve’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling in amusement and he mimicked her with a slow nod and a deep rumble, “ _Oh_.”

His eyes were like two hot coals and they were saying something to her that his words did not but the fire in them slid into her skin and wrapped around her bones until they _burned_.

Very suddenly, she wondered if she would survive this man.

Darcy tore her eyes away, flicking them off to the side, and lifted her mug to her lips, taking in a scalding mouthful. She awkwardly avoided his gaze, biting the inside of her cheek, suddenly feeling very much like a thirteen year old girl talking to her crush and very much like an animal backed into a corner by a creature who hadn’t yet decided whether it wanted to eat her or not.

When the scratching of Steve’s pencil started once more, she nearly sagged in relief. It wasn’t that she didn’t find him attractive, but this weird dance between flirting and being terrified because the world around them was crumbling more and more every day was pushing the boundaries of her emotional capacity. Plus… Steve might be the most intense man she had ever met (and she was close buddies with a motherfucking _god_ ). 

Her chest stung at the thought of Thor; she felt his absence greatly and Darcy swallowed down another piping hot mouthful of coffee with a wince. It warmed her belly but she drew no comfort from it like she normally would have. Comfort was a hard thing to find these days but especially tonight. 

There was a reason both she and Steve were down in this kitchen in the middle of the night and, believe it or not, it wasn’t to flirt. Her eyes cast to the darkened window and though there was no graying light yet, her stomach clenched with a quiet dread.

“It’ll be dawn soon.”

The scratching of the pencil paused and then after a moment began again.

“It will.”

Darcy’s eyes flashed to him but he didn’t look up from his paper. Her fingers tightened painfully on the mug. “Steve…”

“I’ve been working out a place for you to go with Bruce and Groot,” Steve said suddenly and Darcy went utterly still. “It’s in Brooklyn—”

“—there has to be another way,” she cut him off with a shake of her head, her voice a little more than a breath.

Steve remained quiet and Darcy’s eyes flickered over his face. Her world plummeted.

“You’re really going to do this?” 

Steve’s jaw clenched and he very carefully closed the sketch book, running a hand over the cover before setting it on the table. 

“I thought we went over this already,” he said finally, one of his brows tensing upwards. “Didn’t you sit right here at this table and tell me that life was worth protecting at all costs?” 

Stunned, she stared at him. The anger that filled her at that moment was something she had never quite experienced before and the words came rushing out of her mouth. “I mean, of course it is, but newsflash _Muscles_ ,” she brandished the nickname this time like a weapon, “when I said that I also meant your life. It includes Natasha’s and Clint’s and Bruce’s and all of ours.”

“And if I willingly choose to sit back and let fifty people—fifty _lives_ —be snuffed out, what will my life be worth then?” His voice was hard and unyielding. “It’s a selfish thing to want to trade fifty innocents for our lives.”

“Says the man who wouldn’t be left behind to drown in the grief,” she snapped, slamming down her mug. 

Blazing hot coffee splashed over her hand. It stung, reddening her skin, but Darcy ignored it. Her eyes bored into his. Something ugly inside of her chest was cracking open and it shook her to the core. 

There was a deep reservoir of pain living under her skin that was still very much alive and breathing and churning beneath the surface of everything Darcy did or said. The idea of adding more to that pain, of adding _Steve_ to it, was like having something ripped from her, something she didn’t even know existed and Darcy made a fist, digging her nails into the meaty portion of her palm before inhaling slowly. 

“You’re asking me to do the very thing you are unwilling to do: knowingly stand back and let a sacrifice happen. If we’re—you said we’re friends, right?”

He gave her a careful nod, like he was waiting for the trap, and Darcy pressed on.

“Then stop asking me to be okay with losing you.”

It was a slow thing, the way Steve’s face opened (similar to a flower unfolding in fresh sunlight), the way his eyes softened immeasurably, his brows lifting in the middle. Darcy found it suddenly very hard to look him in the eye, so she cast her gaze upwards and tried to swallow around the hot, filling lump in her throat.

They said nothing and the coffee pot hissed as it reheated the remaining liquid. She remembered once thinking of their friendship like walking out onto a frozen lake that she wasn’t sure would hold her weight. It was clear they had reached the end of the thicker ice beneath their feet and now it was all chance—to see who would crack the surface and fall through first, sinking to the cold depths below, to see who would _let_ the other fall. 

Or maybe, to see who could swim.

“I’m prepared to make that sacrifice, Darcy,” Steve said, softly, and she gasped in a wet, shaky breath, blinking rapidly at the ceiling. There was an ancient kind of sadness in his voice, the kind that could only be learned and earned only through profound heartache. “Those fifty people won’t be. _That’s_ the difference. That’s why I’m going, that’s why I’m doing this. You keep saying there has to be another way, but if there isn’t, then this is what I choose. I’ve never held you back from doing what you needed to do and I’m asking you to give me the same courtesy. Yes, this is a risk, but I hope I am always able to risk _everything_ for the just and right cause.”

Outside it had started to rain.

Darcy’s eyes slid closed and she tried to keep herself from crumbling. Her voice, when she spoke, was thick. “You know it’s a lot harder to take this stance when the person potentially going to their death isn’t yourself but someone you care about instead,” she lowered her face and looked right at him, eyes bright and glistening. Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears; it was raw and deep and almost hollow in the texture. “I just want you to remember that—that there are people out there who actually _care_ for you, Steve, and I’m one of them.”

He stared at her, looking deeply shaken by her words.

And then, with a jolt of clarity, she _knew_ what the driving force behind all of this was.

It all came down to James Buchanan Barnes.

Steve Rogers had lost the love of his life. He didn’t have anything tethering him to this world like Thor did with her, except for his sense of duty. He had already given this world everything he was, he had given his life—first with the serum, second when he crashed the plane, third when he dedicated himself in service of SHIELD. It was all he ever did, it was all he seemed to know _how_ to do, and for that, Darcy ached. This world owed him everything and it couldn’t even give him the one and only thing he wanted. It took Bucky from him just like it took Jane from her. And where most people threw in the towel and called it quits, Steve dug his heels in and somehow found something else that he could offer. Her heart lurched with the knowledge, twisting hard in her chest.

Because Steve Rogers was a _good_ man.

He was the best kind and Darcy had the distinct sensation of falling. It was physical, the realization, and her mouth opened slightly with the force of it because she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was the kind of man she could love. 

He was the kind of man she _wanted_ to love.

She stared at him in that small kitchen, the space between them fragile and raw and full of welts and she ached in spaces where words could not reach.

Her mind was dizzy and it wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Darcy pressed her lips together to keep them from wobbling. She breathed out with a firmness that she didn’t know she even possessed, hoping that he would _hear_ her heart as it bled out on the floor between them.

“You are more than the martyr this world has begged you to become, Steven Grant Rogers, and you deserve better than all of this.”

Steve searched her eyes for what felt like a very long time, what he was looking for, she did not know. Darcy’s head tipped back as he unfolded his body and rose to his feet. Her stomach flipped when he reached his full height. He didn’t move forward but he was staring at her in a way that said he very much wanted to.

Her back was to the counter and she pressed hard against it, using the sharp pain to ground herself. It felt like her body was inflating with words and promises and things that she didn’t even know were inside of her and Darcy’s lips fell open but the words died on her tongue when there was a sudden flash of multi-colored light igniting in the living room followed by the distinct sound of a boots thudding on the ground.

They both froze.

Steve’s eyes tripled their size and he tore into the living room, Darcy hot on his heels. Her entire face transformed into a manic sort of grin. She was going to give Thor _hell_ for taking so long.

Except the person in the living room wasn’t Thor.

Darcy skidded to a stop, Steve’s hand automatically reaching out to stop her. He pushed her bodily behind him but not before she got a good look at the small blond woman glaring daggers at both of them, her stance wide and at the ready, fists clenched like she knew how to use them. 

The words that followed cracked like a whip for all that they were dangerously soft.

“ _Where is Fury?_ ”

* * *

They had dug a pit for the humans. 

It was going to be a mass burial.

It was deep and smelled of rich earth and roots. The fresh rain quickly turned the damp walls to a thick, slippery, muddy trap. He ordered an energy field barrier to be placed around the edge to prevent any who might get the bright idea of climbing out from escaping.

And then Ebony Maw went hunting.

The others joined him, as ordered by Thanos, flanking him like the wings of death as they left the open space of land into the clustered streets and alleys. He ignored the way the cool drops of water soaked through his clothes, his boots, streaming down his face and into his eyes making it difficult to see; he kept walking into the night. The others silently split off into different buildings and homes and the only way he knew they had found their prey was from the abrupt screams of terror slicing through the night.

Insanity had a sound, he realized, an orchestra; and the sound was high and cold and empty with the crushing weight of people who knew they were going to die.

“ _Please, no—don’t do this,_ ” a woman was sobbing distantly, “ _Please, let me go, I’ll do anything!_ ”

Her hysteria rose around him like a cold ocean, dark and eternal. Ebony Maw clenched his jaw and kept walking into the night. 

He kept walking until the screams drifted further and further away.

Ebony Maw did not turn back.

* * *

“What are we looking at?”

 _I have no fucking clue_ , Darcy thought very loudly but kept her mouth firmly shut, her wide blue eyes locked on the newcomer. The woman asking the question hadn’t directed it her way and clearly the context meant something completely different, but still. Darcy sat on the couch next to a sleepy Groot surrounded by the rest of the Avengers and their newly arrived guest in no small amount of shock. 

Really, she should know better by now. Gods, aliens, talking trees, dark elves, mythical hammers—the world she grew up knowing as a young girl had drastically changed and though she had a better grip on it than most, there were still moments where she was taken completely off guard. 

This was one of them.

Carol fucking Danvers. 

No one had ever heard of her, she had been all but erased from SHIELD’s files, but she clearly was close with Nick Fury and if that scary motherfucker (Clint’s words) considered Carol his last-chance-to-save-the-world-because-we’re-all-gonna-die option, then it had to mean _something_. Especially since he hadn’t called on her in all of the other times the world was falling apart. 

It made Darcy wonder if Nick Fury either had an inordinate amount of trust in the Avengers or a really terrible perception of what qualified as an emergency and what did not.

“We’ve got a few hours before Thanos makes good on his word and kills fifty people,” Clint’s voice shook Darcy and she jerked, turning to him. Steve’s gaze flitted to her briefly before sliding back to the archer. “He’s got an army of aliens, mostly pawns, but his core team is who you’ve got to watch out for—they’ve got a nasty bite.”

“His camp is set up in Central Park, if we want to confront him, that’s where we go,” Steve added. “He has sentries posted on the north and south and some kind of energy field barrier erected for the east and west.”

Carol took that information at face value. She glanced around the room and Darcy’s brows lifted comically when the woman’s dark eyes briefly passed over her. 

“Is this all the team you have left?”

There was a beat of silence.

Natasha who had been utterly silent since Steve called them downstairs stared hard at the other woman and there was a touch of steel there. “There are a few others but they’re off planet right now, hopefully arriving soon.”

“But not soon enough. We can’t afford to wait any longer.”

Natasha slid her gaze to Clint and said nothing. They were all antsy, shifting on their feet, muscled tensed, pulses jumping in their throats. 

“This’ll do.” Carol’s dark eyes gleamed and there was something almost wild and predatory there, the same kind of thing Darcy saw in Steve or Clint when they were itching—hungry for a fight. 

_Fireborn_ , Darcy thought.

“No offense,” Bruce piped up from behind the others crossing his arms over his chest as he rubbed at his chin. “But we don’t know you.” Carol tipped her head slightly and Bruce shrugged. “Sure, you’ve got power and clearly Fury trusted you, though, for us and given our history with the man, that isn’t saying a whole lot. This is _Thanos_ we’re talking about. The guy who wiped out half of the universe.”

“What are you saying, Bruce?” Steve prompted.

The scientist licked his lips, choosing his words carefully. “I’m saying that he gave Hulk a beating and I want to know what makes her so confident. What makes her think she stands a chance when all of us together couldn’t take him?”

Silence.

They turned and looked at Carol expectantly. Her eyes dropped to her hands and she held them out, turning them over and then slowly curled her fingers into a fist. Instantly her hands were coated in a living blue flame of energy. Raw, electric power emanated from the woman like a heartbeat, hitting them all in waves. Darcy gasped and Groot sat up, now very awake. Carol’s hands burned but were not devoured and Steve was staring down at it all like he was seeing a ghost—and not exactly a welcome one.

“That’s the tesseract,” Steve said, his mouth turned downwards sharply, and it almost sounded like an accusation.

Carol’s eyes slowly slid up.

“I’m familiar with it,” he added when she said nothing. “How did this happen?”

“I came into contact with one of the infinity stones before I met Fury. It’s a long story but… it gave me this,” she held out her fists, lifting them higher. 

“Infinity stones don’t just give their power away.” Bruce stepped closer, his brows pinched tightly, “How did it not kill you? I’ve never met another human who… who could come into contact with that kind of power and _live_.”

“You did,” Natasha spoke quietly and Bruce brushed it off immediately with a soft wave of his hand.

“Not quite the same.”

“Close enough.”

The scientist gave the redhead and fond look and turned back to Carol. She swallowed, shaking her head. “Instead of it taking my life…” she started and stopped and something in her eyes burned with a holy and fearful kind of fury giving Darcy the distinct feeling that this was a woman not to be trifled with. Carol’s voice dropped low and wholly unforgiving. The hairs lifted on Darcy’s arms. “Instead of taking my life, I took part of it.”

“I am Groot,” the tree whispered and though Darcy wasn’t entirely sure of what he said, she found herself nodding in agreement, her brows shooting up to her hairline.

Carol opened her fists, the glowing energy disappearing and Darcy felt the physical change, like zapping the air from the room or the sudden burning out of a lightbulb.

“If Thanos is using the infinity stones as a weapon, maybe it’s time to give him a taste of his own medicine,” Carol’s eyes glittered in the night. “This may not even be about winning right now, but simply buying time.”

Steve was eyeing Carol thoughtfully, the shutters behind his eyes firmly closed, and Darcy waited on the edge, like the rest of them, for his verdict. Finally, he inhaled, “We could really use your help.”

Carol locked eyes with him and dipped her head in acceptance and it was like the walls themselves exhaled. 

There was something in the air and it was hope. It was a fierce kind of hope, the kind of hope that went hand in hand with hatred, but it was so much better than the fear and resignation that had sunk in to them all since Thanos.

“If things go sour,” Steve spoke up suddenly, his voice a deep rumble. Darcy glanced at him to find the man staring directly at her. Her heart stuttered in her chest. “I want the three of you to head to Brooklyn. There’s another safe house there, I’ll give you the address.”

“So we get Bruce, Groot, and Darcy set up and then the rest of us head out,” Clint crossed his arms over his chest, the corded muscles in his forearms rising sharply. “Time is ticking, people.”

“Clint,” Natasha began and the look he sent her was frigid.

“Oh no, Nat. We’re not doing this shit. I’m _going_. I can still shoot.”

She stared at him, unmoved by the anger in his words and Darcy was impressed, wishing sharply that she could be a little more like the Black Widow. Natasha’s lips pursing and there was a singular lift of her eyebrow as she deadpanned. “Can you even use your bow right now?”

“Don’t need to,” Clint shrugged. “I’ll use a gun.”

“How badly are you injured?” Carol asked, eyeing his side and Clint bristled under the assumption.

“Not enough to make me stay behind.”

“But enough that you’ll stay off the frontline and cover us,” Steve’s voice was an edict. “Nat, Clint, suit up. We leave in twenty.”

That was all the order they needed and the two spies left the room with no more than a whisper. Steve looked at the rest of them, violent blue eyes flickering to Darcy more than once before he nodded and jogged up the stairs where Darcy assumed he would presumably ‘ _suit up_ ’.

Her gaze stayed on the stairs long after Steve was out of sight and then she remembered the presence of the others and blinked. Carol was staring down at her, a corner of her lips ticking upwards, looking for all the world like she knew a secret Darcy wasn’t quite privy to.

“You’re quiet,” Carol commented and Bruce didn’t even try to hide his snort causing Darcy to give him one hell of a death glare.

“That was mean, Bruce,” Darcy rolled her eyes, turning back to the blond with an awkward wave of her hand. “Hi, I’m a regular human.”

_Add stupidity as a side effect of little to no sleep._

“Nice to meet you,” Carol said around a soft laugh. Her face was open and friendly and not at all what Darcy had expected from the fierce woman who capped the power of an infinity stone inside her skin. “How’d you get caught up in this mix?”

Darcy thought about that for a long moment, searching for an explanation but her brain could only settle on four words.

“I tased a god.”

Carol didn’t hesitate like most people did after learning that, she just grinned wider, “Good for you.”

There was a soft tinkling sound from the stairwell and Darcy’s eyes flashed over, spotting the elusive cat that Steve and the others had brought home shake itself and perch on the bottom step, blinking owlishly at them. Groot’s response was instantaneous, he let out a squawking sort of wordless shout. Darcy grimaced and stood, quickly ushering the tree out of the room and into the kitchen.

“He’s not going to hurt you,” she assured him.

The tree shook his head, leaves trembling terrible as he frantically waved his limbs, “ _I. Am. Groot_.”

Groot and the cat’s first meeting… had not gone well, to say the least. Darcy had never heard a tree hiss before but that was pretty much the sound Groot made the moment he laid eyes on the creature. Thankfully, the cat seemed unbothered by Groot’s distress and mostly left him alone—Groot, however, very clearly wanted to be as far from the cat as possible.

After Darcy got Groot out of the sight of the cat, she turned back around to see that Carol had gone deathly still. Her body was stiff, every line and curve hard and unmoving.

“Goose?” Carol called out, her voice sounding like she was lost in a desert and in desperate need of water. Immediately she crouched down and held out a hand in offering. “C’mere boy.” 

The cat considered it for a moment before slinking off the step and trotting its way towards her. Darcy watched with a soft grin as the orange tabby bumped its pink nose on her finger before pressing its velvety cheek against her hand, as if in recognition.

“You know him?” Bruce asked.

Carol looked oddly emotional; her eyes very bright.

“Goose was— _is_ a friend. I didn’t know he was still alive,” she said quietly and then flicked her eyes up in a heavy warning, “and he’s not a cat.”

Darcy frowned, “What is he?”

The grave look that shadowed Carol’s face made goosebumps rise on Darcy’s arms.

“Something much more dangerous,” Carol told her quietly, all the while her fingers scratched at the cat’s head. “A flerken.”

“Flerken.”

Behind Darcy, Groot popped his head out of the kitchen, “I am _Groot!_ ”

Carol turned around, looking at Groot over her shoulder and then told them point blank, “The Flora Colossus has good instincts. It’s a good thing none of you have made Goose angry or made him feel threatened. He’s a pretty good judge of character, but there can always be slip-ups.”

“What would happen if we made him angry?” 

“He’d eat you alive,” Carol said simply and Darcy just looked at her for a long time as she gave the creature luxurious pets.

Then Darcy blurted out—

“Wait, you mean _literally?_ ”

* * *

“I didn’t know there was a SHIELD safe house in Brooklyn.”

Steve stilled, his hand on the door knob. Twisting, he slid his eyes to Natasha. She had been waiting for him in the empty hallway with that _look_.

He ignored it and lifted one brow, “That’s because it’s not SHIELD’s.”

The shift in Natasha’s face was microscopic but her green eyes seemed to grow even brighter. A gentle smile unfurled on her lips.

* * *

Steve was the first one ready. Darcy lifted her head from where it was resting on her knee when he appeared in the stairwell, sweeping into the room like he owned it. Her brows rose, partially in appreciation of the pure male energy that he seemed to so naturally emanate when he was in mission mode. The Captain was back in his all black tactical suit (the one that looked way too good on him, if she was honest) and he was honed in on her with a startling kind of intensity. Quickly, his gaze flashed over to where Carol and Bruce were inspecting the _TeleThor_ and then flickered back to her.

Darcy felt like she had been tasered.

His gaze was burning and it felt heavy and unnamable and set her heart to double the rate. Steve’s eyes purposefully slid to the kitchen and then back to her before he jerked his head in a silent request (or was that an order?) to follow.

Steve didn’t wait for her answer before turning and marching into the other room, every line of his body filled with a strange sort of purpose. Darcy’s lips parted but she said nothing and rose on shaky legs, her brows creased, throat dry, something very much like anticipation weaving in and out of her chest like a needle and thread passing through a tapestry.

He was leaning back against the counter, staring down at a small scrap of paper that he held between his fingers when she entered. 

“Hey,” she intoned softly, her steps careful and unsure and coming to a stop in the middle of the kitchen.

Steve’s head shot up and an emotion flashed across his face too quickly for Darcy to name it. He pushed off the counter and walked toward her, blocking out the kitchen light and casting her in his shadow. 

“Here’s the address in Brooklyn,” he handed her the paper. “If we’re not back by nightfall or if you hear of anything going wrong, the three of you need to leave whether Thor is back yet or not.”

Her mouth tightened and she wanted to argue, but from the ‘ _try me_ ’ look in Steve’s eyes, she pushed that away and instead let out a quiet, “Okay.”

“Good,” Steve said, decisively, but he didn’t step back from her. In fact, as if he had made his mind up about something, he inched closer and Darcy’s pulse skipped a beat.

Her eyes snapped to his, inhaling sharply. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off of him. His piercing gaze darted between her eyes for a moment and then lazily trailed down her face and it was like she was being unraveled.

Slowly, deliberately, moving with the same flowing tension of mercury, Steve lifted a hand to cup her jaw. Darcy’s breath hitched at the contact, every nerve suddenly on fire. The tips of his fingers slid through her hair, his calloused thumb sweeping a soft stroke against her cheek stealing her breath with its movement. Darcy felt paralyzed, hyper-focused on his touch; it was like the whole of her body lived between the space of his hand and her skin. Heat bloomed in her face, flooding down her neck and into her chest like dark ink in water. 

Oh so slowly his hand slid down her neck, as if following that rush of heat, and rested on the curve between her neck and shoulder, feeling the tensed muscles. 

Her pupils dilated and she _knew_ that look in his eyes. 

Like a dam bursting, Darcy’s mouth opened, spilling her nerves that had tangled up inside of her stomach. Her voice was frantic and not quite shaking, “Well! This seems to be a pattern for us, huh? I can’t say I’m a fan of it, the whole you leaving for danger and me being stuck behind. Plus, no Thor to come belching in this time, just me and my big mouth. It kind of sucks, feels a little—”

“ _Darcy_.”

Her mouth shut with an audible click and she winced, the tips of her ears burning bright red with embarrassment. Her breathing trembled and without thinking, she let her head fall forward against the center of Steve’s chest.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice muffled by the thick material of his suit. “Word vomit.”

Steve shifted his hand to cup the back of her head and a second hand landed on the dip in the small of her back. He pulled her flush against him and shook with quiet laughter. Her arms seemed to encircle his torso of their own accord and she pressed her cheek against the rough material of his suit letting out a slow, controlled breath.

Darcy had never thought much of hugs, except that she liked them. She liked being held and she liked holding on but she decided that she especially liked it when it involved Steven Grant Rogers.

Admittedly, she would probably like it more if she wasn’t so goddamn nervous.

She pulled back slightly and looked up at him. Long dark lashes made the brightness of his eyes stand out all the more; they sparkled as they all but drank her in.

“This is nice,” Steve admitted and Darcy felt oddly shy. She nodded and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, releasing it slowly.

Steve’s eyes shot down to the movement and it was like a sonic boom.

“ _Hey Steve!_ ”

Reflexively, they both dropped their arms and stepped back from each other a good three feet. Darcy tried to calm her sprinting breath and equally racing heart. Steve eyed her looking like he wanted to say something before snapping his mouth shut. He quickly turned and strode into the living room.

“What’s the plan?” Darcy heard him ask.

She hurried towards the counter, practically falling against it, gripping her head in her hands because _holy shit._

“We do what Thanos asked,” Carol’s voice floated in the kitchen and Darcy stiffened. “We turn ourselves in.”

She straightened on unbalanced feet and eventually made it into the living room in time to take in the shocked looks on the others faces.

“Isn’t that what we want to avoid?”

“Not if we want to have to element of surprise,” Carol shook her head and then a device attached to her forearm beeped. It lit up, casting a muted blue glow to her face as she read it. Her head snapped up, there was a luminous glow to her eyes. “They’re here.”

Steve stepped forward. “Who?”

Carol answered with a slow smile.

* * *

The sky was a heavy sort of gray. Clouds loomed low in uneven patterns like a rumpled blanket after a long winter’s sleep; it cast a muted tone over the world outside. It had been an hour since the rain had stopped and with it came the increase of cries from the mass of humans crowded in a prison of their very earth.

 _Fitting_ , Thanos thought.

He stood on the edge of his ship, breathing in the bitter stench of fear welling up from the pit. With a luxurious slowness, he walked down the plank, each step making a _thunk, thunk, thunk_ on the metal under his sheer mass. The ground was slick beneath him, mud curling up over the lip of his boots and making an awful squelching sound as he walked towards his prize.

The instant he came into view of the squirming, filthy humans, their pleas increased tenfold. 

“ _YOU MONSTER! There are children in here!_ ”

“ _Fuck you, man! Let us go!_ ”

“ _Please—please._ ”

He stared down at them wholly unmoved, his eyes freezing in their icy depths. The gauntlet on his arm expanded and contracted with flowing power, like a pair of lungs. Each stone was a string of energy he could tug on at will and it would be so easy to obliterate them all with a twist of his fingers.

The power was a heady thing. The temptation even more so.

Motion to his right caught his attention as Corvus Glaive approached in his slinking manner. Thanos turned and looked at the creature who was eyeing the humans with glowing eyes the way one admired a particularly good meal.

“Report?”

Corvus Glaive tore his gaze from the pit and dipped his head in acknowledgment, “We cannot find him, my Lord.”

Thanos’ gloved fingers twitched and Corvus Glaive looked to the gauntlet with no small amount of fear. Eyes narrowed, Thanos’ gaze slid over the rest of his camp. All of the faithful gathered.

All but one.

“Ebony Maw will reveal himself in time… and when he does,” Thanos paused for a moment, lips twisting, “bring him to me.”

Thin ghoulish lips peeled back from long, needle sharp teeth.

“Consider it done, my Lord.”

Thanos stared down the creature and then his eyes flashed just beyond him to the north entrance catching the movement a second before the alarms began blaring. Flurries of armed soldiers scurried out of the ship in response to the alert and Corvus Glaive whirled around with a growl.

Thanos tilted his head at the intruders.

They did not try to hide their entrance and did not hesitate at the lines and lines of soldiers gathering behind him. Corvus Glaive slipped back, just beyond his shoulder.

The Avengers—or at least what was left of them—made their way slowly down the path to the ship. Some, Thanos recognized, while others he did not. A woman was at the center, small in stature, but clearly the others were following her lead. Rolling his neck in anticipation, he called out when they got close enough.

“I must say, you disappoint me. I would have hoped for a little more than a threat to bring Earth’s Mightiest Heroes to their knees. You disgrace yourselves,” he admitted as they came to a silent standstill. 

The Black Order flanked him like death itself, waiting for the command. 

Thanos wouldn’t give it yet. He wanted to play with his food.

The blond woman tilted her head, her hands curled into tiny fists. He watched her mouth tighten, eyes flashing over to the pit and back before commanding, “Release the humans.”

Thanos eyed the tallest man next to her, the one that had nearly split his chest in two. He was a man Thanos would never forget and he grinned to think of forcing an Asgardian Prince as proud as this one to willingly surrender over the measly lives of human filth. He carried no axe this time, just his empty hands, and it was a shame really. The god, for all of his misplaced loyalty, was a magnificent warrior. The kind Thanos would gladly add to his ranks.

“I believe there’s to be an exchange if you want them to be set free,” Thanos said, still staring at the Asgardian who simply blinked back at him.

“We will happily comply, but first, make a show of goodwill.”

Thanos turned to the woman, narrowing his eyes at her audacity. He knew his gaze was unsettling; he knew the power of it. Most cowered before him but this woman who barely reached his chest tilted her chin up and met his eyes without fear. 

It was no small thing to do. 

His gaze dropped to the golden symbol on her chest and something clicked in recognition, sliding into place. “I know you.”

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes, her tone even and mocking. “Funny, because I’ve never heard of _you_.”

Thanos just stared at her for a long moment.

“You’re the Kree who betrayed her kind,” there was a flare of triumph when her eyes narrowed. Thanos continued, “Ronan spoke of you.”

“I _never_ was a Kree,” she bit out.

“They took you in, offered you shelter—”

“—in the form of kidnapping, brainwashing, imprisonment, and forced servitude,” she stared at him coldly, her voice not exactly shaking. “I’ve long since left the Kree way and found something better.”

“Which is?”

His only warning was the smile she gave him.

“ _This_.”

In a flash she raised her fist and shot a powerful photon blast directly over his shoulder at Corvus Glaive. Thanos whirled around and the creature staggered, hand fluttering down to the massive hole blown straight through the middle of his chest. 

Thanos watched as Corvus Glaive, one of the best warriors this universe had ever known, collapsed with a dull thud at a mere flexing of this woman’s hand.

And then the world exploded.

Both sides opened fire, erupting into action and Thanos ducked a blast that was aimed for his head as the woman came straight for him with all of her fury, her body igniting with a power that tasted familiar. The gauntlet sang in response. She launched blast after blast at him, pressing him back, and Thanos used the gauntlet as a shield to deflect and absorb. He waited, mind shifting into a place where instinct ruled and his instincts told him to bait her in.

There was gunfire coming from the trees, dropping soldiers, and there was the Avengers, a whirl of color amongst the black and grays. There was dark blood on the ground, and bodies, and he saw his Black Order moving like forces of nature.

An animalistic roar jaggedly ripped through the air and his eyes flashed with a deep, curling pleasure to see the Asgardian Prince impaled on Proxima Midnight’s spear. Her teeth were bared in what could only be called retribution as he doubled over, sinking further down the shaft.

It was as if everything came to a standstill to watch the life end. 

Only as the life bled out of the Asgardian it became clear that he… wasn’t Asgardian at all. 

Upon his final breath, the Asgardian Prince shifted back into his natural form and with the change, a flood of hatred and surprise flooded Thanos. Glaring, he whirled around to the woman, bellowing out a thundering—

“ _SKRULLS!_ ”

As if answering his cry, more Skrulls surged from hiding, leaping into the fray—some even disguised as his own soldiers. Enraged at the deception, Thanos raised the gauntlet, aiming it mercilessly at the now smirking woman, and pulled on each individual string of power from the stones with every ounce of might he had. It surged to a sharpened point that was almost unbearable and then—

One of the strings _snapped_.

 _BOOM_.

Thanos and the woman flew backwards from the eruption. A plume of fire and energy, red and orange and black, exploded from the gauntlet, flinging both of them across the open field as if they were nothing. He skidded across the ground, eyes wide in shock and confusion, his muscles trembling as the gauntlet began to overheat. Smoke rose from it, searing the skin on his arm with a sickening hiss and he stared down at the stones.

For the first time in a millennia, Thanos felt something akin to fear flutter through his veins. 

* * *

Before he had time to think about it, Steve bolted for the pit. At least two blasts flew past him and then an armored alien made the mistake of blocking his way. Steve leapt, plowing his knee into their chest with such force that they flew back into a tree, body breaking with a sickening _thwack_. 

Steve whirled and snatched another approaching alien by the throat. It crunched beneath his fist like an aluminum can before he threw the creature down into the mud. Others came and fell under the sheer brutality Steve felt raging through him. He used the Wakandan shields as both a defense and as an offense, slicing and blocking and reigning a holy kind of terror. 

The people below were screaming, shouting for help as they clamored over each other, on top of each other, to try and make their way out. Steve slid to the edge of the pit, skidding across the mud and with a sudden stop, flailing his arms slightly as he just barely avoided flying into the energy field barrier.

“Shit,” he breathed, frantically searching for a trigger point to shut it down. “ _Goddamnit_. I hate technology.”

“On your left,” a voice called out and his head whipped up.

Natasha had her thighs wrapped around the neck of an alien as she shocked them with her Widow Bites, her teeth bared white against her mud splattered face. When the alien fell with a heavy thump, she ran over, panting and pointing at the control panel. “This one should disable it.”

Following her instructions, he flipped pressed a series of buttons and flipped the toggle. Instantly the shields powered down with a quiet hum. His eyes flashed to Natasha. 

“Clear a pathway for them to get out?”

She swallowed and nodded jerkily, standing up to go do just that. Shuffling forward on one knee, Steve gripped the muddy edge of the pit and reached his arm down. The people surged towards him like a desperate wave and—

 _BOOM_.

Sound had never been physical before but this was and it shook the ground beneath his feet. He shouted for people to take cover.

Whirling around, eyes blazing, through the smoke and dust, Steve could make out the shape of Carol knocked out cold against a rock fifty feet back. A cold fear shot through him.

On the opposite end of the field, Thanos scrambled to his feet, staring at the gauntlet like it was a snake. Bodies littered the ground, Skrulls and Thanos’ army alike and Steve watched in no small amount of shock as Thanos and his army of beasts withdrew from the fray.

The female alien, the one Steve had fought before, took hold of Thanos’ shoulder and lifted her spear and in a burst of light… they all disappeared.

* * *

“So… _Space_.”

The Skrull peered at her over the lip of his coffee mug, flecks of green and gold in the kind reptilian eyes caught the gleam of the overhead light. He nodded happily. Darcy drummed her fingers against the arm of the couch trying to convince her mind not to freak out. She was _not_ in fact dreaming as she shared a cup of coffee with a pointy-eared, lime green, shapeshifting alien. Perfectly normal.

_Speaking of shapeshifting._

Darcy puckered her lips, mind wracking for something to say, “That’s a neat trick you all can do, by the way,” she flapped her hand. “Kind of freaky but neat. Who’s the most famous person you impersonated?”

The Skrull’s eyes slid off to the side, clearly deep in thought. He was younger than the others, which was the main reason that the general Skrull dude demanded he stay behind with the rest of them.

His eyes flicked back to her and he answered with a firm nod.

“Beyoncé.”

There was a beat of silence.

Darcy surged forward, sitting up ramrod straight as her jaw dropped. “Oh my god, show me,” she demanded instantly. 

If a Skrull could blush, Darcy was pretty sure he would be beet red. But he also preened under the attention and Darcy’s fascination as his form flickered and then slowly morphed into the famed goddess-like performer.

The Beyoncé Skrull blinked at Darcy. She was at a loss for words, staring at the creature with a sense of utter awe.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” she breathed.

The Skrull seemed to appreciate the compliment, if the blinding smile he offered her was anything to go by. Even though she knew it wasn’t Beyoncé herself smiling at her, Darcy still found herself a little star struck because holy shit this looked so fucking real.

Of course, it was right about that moment that the living room exploded in a, now familiar, colorful burst of light and energy.

Darcy shouted, eyes squeezing shut at the intensity of the brightness. Momentarily blinded, she rubbed at her eyes and blinked rapidly until her vision cleared. When she could finally see again, her heart leapt into her throat with a swell of both immense joy and relief. She gracelessly scrambled to her feet, a strangled cry tearing out of her throat

“ _THOR!_ ” 

And then she was running as fast as she could and she threw her arms around the god. Tears automatically springing in her eyes. 

Thor barely caught her, seeing that his arms were already mostly full, but Darcy didn’t much care about that because _Thor was fucking back_. She could hold on for the both of them. Beside Thor, Tony Stark stumbled as his body readjusted to being on stable ground.

The billionaire was thin—very thin—and pale and he squinted hard at the Beyoncé impersonator on the couch. He shook his head once, like he was trying to wake up. “Is this—what is this?”

“It’s okay, he's a friend,” Darcy explained, still holding on tightly to Thor, her voice thick. 

“Beyoncé? You know Beyoncé?” A teen popped up on the other side of Thor stuttering, his skin clammy and looking very much like he was trying not to blow chunks. Darcy gave him a sympathetic look, but the teen couldn’t take his eyes off of the Skrull. “Is… is she an Avenger— _ah!_ ”

The Skrull shifted seamlessly back into its natural form and the teen flinched back, a flail of gangly limbs, nearly falling to the ground. His voice was breathless and squeaking. “Oh god, not Beyoncé. Definitely _not_ Beyoncé.”

Darcy laughed into Thor’s chest, something in her cracking and shaking with unadulterated happiness. She wiped at the tears in her eyes, unable to remove herself from the god.

“We have Skrulls, now?” Thor asked, sounding more confounded than Darcy had ever heard.

She pulled back just enough to look up at his face, her mouth split open in a huge smile. “Yeah, amazing shapeshifting aliens, and they’re here to help us.”

The Skrull blinked, saying nothing in his own defense, and he really was rather sweet.

“Aliens,” the teen was muttering. “More aliens.”

Upstairs a door thudded against the wall and soon footsteps tumbled down the stairs. They all turned as Bruce halted at the base of the stairs, staring at the trio with a vulnerable kind of childlike disbelief.

“Tony?”

The billionaire stepped forward with a soft smile. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Banner.”

Bruce laughed and it was a thick, wet sound that didn’t quite escape his throat. His hand came up to cover his mouth before he flung it away and swept forward yanking Tony into a hug.

Darcy watched happily, feeling as though the world was finally being set right. Or at least on the path.

A knuckle tucked under her chin and Darcy let Thor lift her face so he could get a good look at her. His kind eyes swept over her, assessing. He rumbled out a soft, “You are well?” 

She nodded, sucking in a deep, centering breath. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

There must have been something telling in her voice because Thor pushed her back slightly, hands landing on her shoulders. His eyes were heavy. “Where are the others?”

Whatever joy Darcy had felt melted away. Her smile slipped off her lips and she stared up at the god gravely.

“They went to meet Thanos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were two alternate routes this chapter could have taken and I spent a fair amount of time debating the options. One would have been much darker, the other was this route. Ultimately it came down to this: we needed hope, very much so. Thank you to unlimitedhappylife for lending me your ear and really helping me sort my tangled mess out. I appreciate your help so much, friend. To every reader near and far, to every soul that is weary and worn down by this shattered world, I want to share with you this quote, “Hope has two beautiful daughters: Anger and Courage. Anger at the way things are and Courage to see they don’t remain as they are.” Let us be filled with hope. It’s not over yet.
> 
> For those who haven’t yet, don’t forget to check out the [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) for fun sneak peeks and manips and ramblings!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first asked the good folks on Tumblr months ago for their input on the possibility of me starting an Endgame fix-it fic, I offered the voting scale from 1 to 11. So, in honor to the resounding elevens, it’s only fitting that the eleventh chapter be a special one and that’s all I’m going to say about that.

The kid was snoring.

He was curled up on his side with his hand tucked under his pillow, mouth wide open. A thin, silvery string of drool slowly slid from between his lips dampening the pillowcase. It wasn’t the most beautiful sight and it certainly wasn’t the most pleasant sound, but Tony could not stop staring. Fast asleep as he was, Peter Parker looked so goddamn _small_ and so fucking _young_.

It hadn’t taken long for the toll of recent events to finally catch up with the teen. He was out cold soon after he had received a clean bill of health from Thor. 

Not that Tony could blame him.

“Sometimes I wonder why I dragged him into all of this in the first place.”

Bruce glanced up from where he was prepping to insert the IV into the crook of Tony’s arm and said nothing, only lifted his brows in response.

Tony kept his dark eyes on Peter, his chest contracting tight enough that it was in danger of cracking—cracking with things he should have dealt with long ago.

“Was I really that desperate that I dragged a kid into war? A _kid_?” Normally steady fingers twitched, and the prick of the needle stung as it pierced his skin with more force than originally intended. Tony slid his eyes to his friend catching the unsure look on Bruce’s face a second before it flitted away. Tony’s lips flattened. “It’s a funny thing, facing imminent death. It puts things into perspective. And before you start, I know, you’re not _that_ kind of doctor but—”

“—Tony,” Bruce interrupted, his tone laced with soft concern, “I may not be that kind of doctor, but I am your friend. I’ll listen.”

The billionaire blinked fast and hard, brows pulling low over his eyes. Something about that unleashed a hurricane of emotion under his skin, there were too many to name or even separate, all of them trapped without an outlet. 

It was hard to breathe.

“If I would have lost the kid… I don’t…” Tony stopped, his voice breaking, eyes latching onto Bruce with a raw kind of vulnerability. “I don’t know what I would have done— _who_ I would have become. Having that kind of blood on your hands is… I _couldn’t_.”

He fell silent, shaking his head. Words, which had never failed him before, now seemed to easily evade his grasp.

“You didn’t lose him though,” Bruce reminded him gently.

“Still could.”

Bruce hesitated for a second and then shrugged delicately, “That’s true for any of us.”

And there it was.

Slowly, Tony inhaled. There was a question brewing inside him, bubbling up from the oily pits of his greatest fear. It was the question that had been blaring alarms in his head since the moment Thor arrived on the ship and he knew he was finally going home. He should have asked earlier, he _would_ have asked earlier, but if he was going to find out—he needed for Bruce to be the one to deliver the news. 

For once in his life, Tony Stark did not want an audience.

“Have you heard,” Tony stopped, his throat closing, and it was a fight to get out anything at all. “Is she…?”

A hand landed on his tensed shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Happy has Pepper,” Bruce assured him, keeping his voice low. “Both of them are okay. I haven’t heard much but I know they’re at the lake house and I’m pretty sure he is doing hourly perimeter checks.”

There was a dull _thunk_ as Tony let his head fall back against the wall, deflating like a lifeless balloon. A small, desperately relieved sound escaped from between his lips. Swallowing wetly, he nodded to the ceiling, blinking hard. “Good. She should stay there, it’s safer.”

“You should call her. She’s been sick with worry. I didn’t want to tell her and raise false hope until I knew for certain that we could bring you back.”

Tony couldn’t get any more words around the lodged lump in his throat, so he simply nodded. Bruce quietly finished hooking up the IV and then frowned at it. 

“I wish I could get you both set up to a vitamin intake, it would do you a world of good, but we don’t have those kinds of resources here. We’re lucky enough to be getting you hydrated.”

“Speaking of here,” Tony said after a moment, eyes flashing to the dodgy looking room. He tilted his head, squinting, “Where _is_ here?”

“SHIELD safe house. On the outskirts of Manhattan.”

Tony must have made a face because Bruce stilled.

“What is it, Tony?”

* * *

She was trying her hardest not to laugh. Her bottom lip paled sharply around the edges where her teeth dug into it; she flexed her toes to stop them from wiggling. Thor was holding the heel of her foot in an inescapable grip as he closely examined her old cuts. It felt like a millennia ago since this all began, since she had run in a blind terror from that coffee shop, though in reality, it was only about two weeks. 

Time was a funny thing. 

There was the slightest curve to Thor’s lips, as if he were secretly amused by her attempts to stay still. He might have run his finger across the delicate arch of her foot once, just for fun.

Darcy shrieked, jerking back in outrage, to which the god only chuckled deeply, completely unrepentant. Afterwards, he pulled her foot back into his grip once again (completely unaffected by the heat of her glare and threatening reminder that _she knew where he slept_ ) and continued his inspection, the corners of his eyes crinkling happily.

It struck Darcy suddenly that it had been a long time since she had seen Thor look like this— _happy_. Maybe not even happy but just… lighter. The contrast was so sharp that it almost hurt. She hadn’t realized how much had been weighing down the god, how heavy the guilt was that he bore. Darcy didn’t know all of the details of what went down before the Snap and she didn’t ask, but she knew that Thor took much of the blame upon himself, as though he could have stopped it and somehow didn’t.

“Your wounds have healed nicely,” Thor murmured, bright eyes glued to where the largest cut had been.

“I had a good doctor.”

His eyes lifted slowly, and he smiled in a very self-deprecating manner, “You flatter me.”

“It’s not empty flattery when it’s the truth,” Darcy objected with a shake of her head. “You’re good at this, Thor. I mean that.” 

He said nothing in response, something unreadable floated in his eyes, bobbing up to the surface, and it did not set right with her. Darcy watched him, searching his face and before she could think twice about it, she leaned forward and took his hands in hers.

“You did a really good thing bringing Tony back, Thor.”

It was a stunning thing, how the quietest of words could pierce the strongest of men, because Thor was staring at her like she had struck his very heart. 

“It might not be enough,” he rasped out.

“Or,” Darcy said quietly, ducking her head down to make sure she caught his gaze, “it might be everything. I don’t pretend to understand all that’s going on but I know deep down, _in my know-er_ ,” she lowered her voice to a whisper and released one of his hands to tap the center of her chest. “That what you did is going to make a difference. Maybe that makes me naïve, but for the first time in a _long_ time, Thor, I feel hopeful. And it’s because of you.”

There was a long moment of silence as those words settled in around them like a sigh.

Thor inhaled in suddenly, as though he had stopped breathing at some point, and she watched the way his shoulders rose as his lungs filled with air. The God of Thunder dropped his gaze to her hands and lifted them to brush a swift kiss over the knuckles. 

It felt like a thank you.

He released her and turned away after that, packing up the med kit, carefully organizing it into an arrangement that pleased him. 

They were in his room for once and though it wasn’t much different in design to her own, Thor had somehow made a home of it (or perhaps he was at home in it?). If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the crackling of a fire bathing the room in undulating orange and yellows. Two things stood out to her most in the room, the first was the large weapons stand filled with various pointy objects that she wasn’t too keen on touching. The second was the photo of him and Jane beside his bed—the one Steve had insisted on bringing back.

Darcy’s eyes drifted to it more than once. In it, Jane’s face was half in shadow and half aglow in soft firelight, and she was so utterly in love with Thor that it was enough to make Darcy’s heart ache. There were fingerprints smudged on the frame, as though the owner held it often and with great care.

Flicking her eyes off to the side, careful not to get drawn into the ever-present Jane shaped grief hovering around the edges of her consciousness, Darcy’s lips twitched.

“How’s Stark and that Spider-kid faring?”

“I left them with Bruce once we knew they were stable. They will recover,” Thor said with a snap of the lid to the med kit. He stilled, running his hand over the top of it and his brows pinched together lightly, adding a quiet afterthought, “physically at least.”

Darcy hummed softly and her eyes lowered, fingers twisting together in her lap. She thought about that and all the Avengers and all that they had gone through over the years. She thought even about herself and her own experiences in New Mexico and London and now here. It… it was a lot. A laugh left her, but it was limp and fell to the ground with a spatter, “That seems to be the case for most of us. We’re a mess. The whole world is.”

“Aye, that seems to be the nature of things,” Thor’s lips pressed together, and he turned wistful. “If only I could have learned how to heal wounds beyond the physical.”

“I’m not sure this is something we heal from, it might be something we simply are going to have to live with.”

“It will lessen, with time and with great care.”

Darcy could say nothing to that, so she simply offered the god a small, bittersweet smile. She stared into his eyes and saw stardust staring back at her, ages upon ages of lives lived and lives lost. Thor looked very much like he wanted to say something further. Instead, he gently pushed aside the med kit and moved to sit beside her on his bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, pulling Darcy naturally into his side. Thor used it to his advantage and wrapped a muscled arm around her, resting his chin atop the crown of her head. 

“You are so young, Darcy,” Thor rumbled and she felt the vibration of his words against her cheek. His hand, large and warm, ran up and down her arm as he held her a little tighter. “Sometimes I forget. But know this: in all my years, I have learned that grief can be overwhelming while still in the sting of it. It seems as though it will never end, but it _will_ pass as all things do. In time, you will see… healing will come, in one form or another.”

Darcy stared at the photo of Thor and Jane on his nightstand and thought about his family and his people and his entire world—all of them lost—and she wondered if he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince her.

* * *

 _BANG_.

The front door smacked against the wall as it burst open, jolting Darcy out of her sleep. She inhaled with a gasp, fingers twisting in the soft cotton of Thor’s shirt. The god was somehow already standing, steadying her on her own two feet.

“Stay here,” he commanded before rushing out of the room.

“Oh, like _hell_.”

Darcy scoffed and followed the god, blearily trying to shake the sleep induced sluggishness from her limbs as she did. The living room downstairs was swollen with shouts and muffled words and as she reached the last couple of steps, one cry became clear.

“ _MEDIC!_ ”

Her stomach dropped.

Whatever drowsiness remained instantly evaporated like water in a hot frying pan. Heart thumping in her chest, she skidded into the room, nearly running straight into Natasha in the process. The spy stopped her with firm hands before she tumbled over completely.

“Easy,” Natasha murmured, and Darcy whirled around, panting and blinking at the woman with no small amount of alarm.

Alarm which quickly shifted into a fearful kind of hope as she clutched at the woman’s shoulders in disbelief, nearly jumping up and down. “You’re _back!_ ”

Natasha nodded and Darcy’s eyes flickered over her, registering suddenly how filthy she was—her porcelain skin was speckled with mud and blood and some odd blueish liquid (Darcy _really_ didn’t want to know what that was). Outside of that, there were no noticeable injuries. The redhead’s mouth quirked slightly. The emotion in her eyes were muted, like there was a screen barrier separating what the world saw and who Natasha really was, but it was clear that she was torn between confusion and amusement at Darcy’s overt concern. When Darcy’s gaze flashed to the rest of the room, searching frantically, Natasha reached up and touched her hand.

Inhaling sharply, Darcy glanced back and realized that she was still holding tight onto the Black Widow.

The Black _fucking_ Widow.

Instantly, she released her grip with a breathy apology, keenly aware of Natasha’s assessing look. It was like the woman was peeling back her skin inch by inch just so she could examine what lay underneath.

“He’s okay, you know.”

Darcy froze, slowly turning her head back, trying so fucking hard to embody the same attitude as the woman in front of her and not let her emotions show. “What do you—”

“Give her to me.”

Thor’s brusque tone cut off Darcy’s sentence. Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes flicked his way, though she felt Natasha’s gaze remain.

The god pushed through the gathered crowd like a knife would through soft butter. As they parted for his massive frame, Darcy caught sight of an equally filthy Steve carrying an unconscious Carol in his arms. Even though Natasha had already told her he was okay, it was nothing compared to the relief that flooded her veins now. Steve’s eyes had that wild look, like his mind hadn’t quite registered that the fight was over. The Captain’s hands tightened on Carol as Thor approached.

Thor must have noticed the same because he purposefully softened his voice and lifted his hands in surrender, “Steven, let me see to her wounds.”

Steve’s throat worked.

“ _Thor?_ ”

It took a moment to register, like something in Steve’s brain was buffering on a bad connection and then Darcy watched as the fight or flight instinct slid off his shoulders like snow cascading off the side of a mountain. Awareness came next and he exhaled explosively, glancing down at the woman in his arms. Carefully, he handed Carol to the god, her limbs flopping frighteningly, like a dead fish. His voice, when he spoke, was hoarse and coated with hints of Brooklyn. “She’s been out cold for a bit. Got blown back into a rock, must’ve hit her head pretty good. Pulse is strong.”

“There was an explosion,” The Skrull General rasped unhappily, gazing at Steve before flicking his eyes to Thor. “We didn’t see it coming but the humans are safe.”

Thor nodded and shifted Carol more securely in his hold before turning and sweeping back to the couch to lay her down, the Skrull General following him.

Now that he was no longer carrying Carol, Steve looked at little lost—or maybe a little shell shocked. The pale spring sun entered through the window, shining on him, and Steve’s golden hair seemed to capture all the light as it was outlined in a soft glow, like a spotlight had been turned on him. His gaze roved over them all, flicking from one body to the next, like he was looking for something or someone specific.

And then his eyes landed on Darcy and they stayed there.

A jolt shot through her. Slowly, she stepped forward, as though he had called her by name.

The second after she moved towards him, Steve’s gaze flashed just beyond her and it was amazing, really, how fast the shutters behind his eyes slammed shut. Gone was the Steve she knew and in its place was the mask—the hard lines of Captain America. 

It gave Darcy chills. She twisted and turned, looking over her shoulder to see what the cause was.

There, at the bottom of the stairs stood a slightly wobbly Tony Stark. His face was unreadable and locked on Steve with a startling sort of intensity. The air shifted in the room, like the prelude to a thunderstorm.

After what felt like centuries, Tony called out a quiet—

“Hey Cap.”

* * *

At some point, Tony knew this was going to happen. He just didn’t think it would be today. But no one ever really prepared for this kind of thing and if they did, it never went the way they wanted it to.

The two of them stood in the kitchen, fully aware of those just beyond trying not to listen in. Tony faced the window, not quite ready to look at the other man yet, gathering his words, his thoughts, trying to sort through the blinding images in his head of Steve hovering over him with sheer violence, driving the shield his father made into his chest (if he thought about it long enough, he could still feel the reverberation and a small part of Tony thought he always would). It was fitting almost, that the man his father most admired had nearly killed him with his father’s greatest creation in the name of protecting the person who killed not just his father but also his mother.

Fitting or all kinds of fucked up.

Pain flared so sharp that it turned the edges of his vision white.

Tony narrowed his eyes and drummed his fingers in a quick pattern against his thigh. He whirled around, opening his mouth.

“Tony, I did wrong by you,” Steve said the instant he turned to face him. The Captain’s face was grave and there was a deep sorrow living in his eyes. Tony kept his face perfectly blank at the admission. Steve continued, his words steady despite the guarded way he held himself. “There aren’t enough words in the world to tell you how sorry I am.”

Tony said nothing, his jaw clenched hard enough that his teeth hurt.

Steve’s brows lifted in the middle, his expression softening. “I hurt you and betrayed you and I can’t take that back. I can’t take back the fact that we tore apart this team when it was needed most. I take full responsibility for everything that has happened since.”

“You do realize you’re saying this to the man who tried to capture, imprison, and ultimately kill your lover, right?” 

Like he had been slapped, Steve’s head snapped up. Tony waited a full five seconds in silence, staring at him. The pain flared hotly again, but something else was flaring, too, and Tony could not ignore it any longer. 

“We both got things to be sorry for in this. You can’t take the full brunt of it because we both screwed up, Cap… _Steve_.” Tony corrected with a hard blink and it was funny how strange it was to say the man’s name. Steve certainly had never looked more shocked. He pushed past the ache pulsing through him, pointing a finger at the taller, stupidly built man. “I’m still mad at you and I probably will be for a long time. It might come out at unexpected moments,” Tony paused, and his accusing finger fell back to his side. “But I’m not going to be an idiot and let it stop us from putting Thanos in the grave. There is a more important fight in front of us and I think… I think it’s time we start to learn how to work together.”

 _There_ , Tony thought very loudly. _I did it, done, we’re straight, move on._

The slight tremble in his hands told him otherwise, but Tony ignored it. Floating endlessly in space had given him ample time to think things through and just as he told Bruce—perspective. He meant it when he told Steve he would probably always going to be angry with him on some level. But he was also highly aware that there was more at stake.

Steve’s chest expanded as he inhaled slowly before breathing out a simple, “Agreed.”

Tony’s lips twisted derisively.

“Sheesh, you’re a man of few words. You got nothing else?”

“I’ve learned that it isn’t an apology if it comes with an excuse or explanation. So, no,” Steve gave him a flat look and then straightened. “But I _will_ fight beside you, Tony.”

The words were a vow, binding them both, and Tony nodded, glancing down to the floor for a moment before sticking out his hand in offering.

Steve did not hesitate before crossing the rest of the gulf between them to shake it. They stared at one another and there was still so much history hovering just on the outer edges, but for now, this was enough.

For now, this was a start.

“We both know that I’ve never really been one for following orders, Cap,” Tony squinted and then tilted his head with a meaningful lift of his brows, “but we could sure use you right now.”

“I was going to see if you had any ideas.”

Tony pursed his lips. “Well, I know where to start.”

* * *

“What do you remember?”

Pain-laced eyes stared at Thor through two thin slits. Carol muttered out a firm, almost offended, “I remember _everything_.”

As though they had heard her wake up, Steve and Tony came walking out of the kitchen, both still alive and intact, if not a little shaken. The two honed in on Carol and Darcy couldn’t help the way her eyes followed Steve as he moved to stand beside Thor.

Darcy was pressed back against a wall, trying to be as small and unobtrusive as possible. She understood her place in this situation, which was no place at all, if she were honest. Thankfully, she had company in the form of Groot and the teenage Skrull on either side of her.

It was their own little band of misfits. Though Darcy would make a strong argument that both had a greater purpose and use here than her. Still, she appreciated the comradery.

Carol’s eyes slid shut and Darcy would have thought she had fallen back into unconsciousness if it weren’t for the words she spoke next. “I had him—Thanos—and then Drasyrr,” she stopped, eyes flashing open, bright and strangely vulnerable. She looked at the Skrull General and spoke lowly, her voice cracking with emotion, “I’m so sorry, Talos.”

Talos stepped forward and knelt beside her, his words quiet but strong, as though he had made his mind up before the foundation of the earth. “Drasyrr knew it was a possibility. We are proud to die in the aid of friends.”

The other Skrulls dipped their heads in acknowledgment.

“We will honor him, in our own way,” Talos assured Carol and her face crumpled briefly before straightening out.

“After Drasyrr was killed and the Skrulls cover blown,” Carol started again, strength behind her voice once more. “Thanos aimed the gauntlet at me and I could see the stones glowing. There were only a few seconds but…” She paused, brows creasing. “It looked like the gauntlet misfired.”

There was a beat of silence followed by a ripple of shock echoing through the room.

“Misfired?” Thor leaned back and it was like the world shifted with him. His voice was deep and sounded like thunder and history books, ancient and powerful. “This was a weapon made by the great dwarf Eitri himself in the forge of Nidavellir. It would not have made such a mistake.”

“ _I_ am Groot.”

All at once, everyone turned to look at the sentient tree. Well, almost everyone. While the rest of the eyes were on Groot, Steve’s gaze was on Darcy and Darcy alone. It made her heart do the weird fluttery thing, like a baby bird learning how to fly. 

What she would give to be able to cross the room and go to him (what she would do if she did was still up in the air, but the desire was strong). As it was, Darcy stayed put, trying to tell him with her eyes what she didn’t have words for. 

“Tree understands,” Thor was saying with a flit of his hands and Darcy had to physically tear her eyes away from the man to focus. “He was there, he has seen the forge.”

Carol shook her head and then winced and went still, her face paling. Eventually, her tense muscles eased and she was able to grit out, “I don’t know what to tell you, but I know what I saw. It misfired.”

“Before they retreated,” Steve spoke up, feet wide, hands dropping to hook into the front of the belt around his trim waist. Darcy’s eyes swept over the shape of him ( _my God_ ) before she could stop herself. “I saw Thanos through the smoke. He was staring at the gauntlet like it betrayed him.”

“A misfire with that kind of power… it should have decimated the rest of Manhattan,” Bruce added. He stood at the base of the stairs, eyeing Tony who was suspiciously silent throughout the entire exchange.

“Maybe he took the brunt of it,” Carol offered. 

“All in all, I think we can agree that it’s been compromised.”

Clint was as tense as a stone statue and his words were laced with something much deeper than anger. Natasha muttered quietly to him and Steve looked at the archer for a long time and then slowly nodded his head.

“We won’t know for sure unless we get our hands on that gauntlet. But first, we need to move camp.”

Darcy’s brows lifted at that announcement, gaze flitting over the room and seeing the same kind of general surprise.

“Where to, Cap?”

Steve didn’t answer Clint’s question, he merely turned to Tony, lifting one brow in a clear offer. The billionaire seemed to snap back to himself.

“The Avengers Compound.”

Wherever that was, Darcy wasn’t sure, but it seemed to have a visceral effect on the two spies as they shifted on their feet. Tony gave them a _look_. “I know, not as off the grid as you’re used to in these kinds of situations, but it has the tech we need. I’ve got suits there and feel much better about the chances of defending that position.”

Before anyone could say anything further, Steve nodded firmly, the decision made.

“Wheels up in an hour.”

* * *

Her new room was, in a word, luxurious. 

Of course, Darcy also might be in a state of shock. She had just gone on her first spaceship ride after all, and it happened to be one full of shapeshifting aliens, a god, a billionaire, two spies, a sentient tree, a teenage spider person, the Hulk, Captain fucking America, and a cat… flerken… thing.

It was a lot to take in.

She slowly moved throughout her new space both unable to fully process that it was hers and appreciating the open and airy feel to it. Natural sunlight poured in through the large window and the light gray walls made the place feel clean and bright. There was a sleek looking desk against one wall and the bed was actually comfortable (she had given it a few test bounces when she first sat down). Compared to the minimal space she had been living in at the safe house and even her place back in Boston, this was something else. The features alone, including the private bathroom, would take Darcy some serious time to adjust to (there were a lot of buttons). Not to mention, there was an AI—yeah, a motherfucking _AI_ —that kindly introduced itself as FRIDAY upon her arrival. It informed Darcy with a lilting Irish accent that it monitors everything within the facility and would do its best to anticipate her needs. After finishing its introduction with an offer to answer any of Darcy’s questions (which she didn’t have), the AI just… disappeared.

Sort of. It was hard to tell. Darcy couldn’t even see where the speakers were in the room that gave it the ability to talk, but she figured it was supposed to be that way.

Unpacking was easy, given that Darcy truly didn’t have much. But it was nice to take what she did have out of her duffle bag and store it in a closet. She set the gravitational sticks from Jane’s safe in a corner across from her bed, smiling at then gently and careful to place them in a way that they wouldn’t tip over.

The process of organizing her belongings was soothingly normal after everything. Darcy took her time, embracing something familiar and mind-numbing and the sheer peace and quiet. Thor had been called away not long after showing her to her room. She had been following him around like a lost duckling and she didn’t blame the Big Guy for needing to drop her off so he could attend to whatever Avenging meetings they were all engrossed in. 

Darcy just wished that she had something to offer. It seemed that everyone but her had something—anything they could do, and yet, here she was, once again, infallibly human and helpless. 

It was hard thing to carry, knowing you were dead weight and being unable to change a damn thing about it.

Sighing, Darcy slapped her thighs after folding the last of her shirts and stood. She wandered over to the window, staring out wistfully at the landscape. The Compound was massive in scale and remote, outside of the city. It looked odd; this industrial building of technological advancement and glamor surrounded by miles of thick, green forest.

“ _Miss Lewis_ ,” the voice of FRIDAY floated in the room and Darcy squealed, jumping so badly that she nearly lost her balance. The AI paused, sounding distinctly amused, “ _My apologies for frightening you, but there is a meal prepared in the commons, if you are hungry._ ”

“Oh!” Darcy nodded in a jerky sort of movement. She stared up at the ceiling, unsure where one was supposed to look when addressing an artificial intelligence. “Um, thanks FRIDAY. Can—can you show me where that is?”

“ _Certainly, follow the lighted path_.”

Just as it promised, the fucking floor itself softly began to glow, marking a clear direction for Darcy to follow. 

Staring down at it, blinking in shock, a small laugh bubbled up in her chest. Darcy shook her head, “Oh, Jane. I wish you could see this—so fucking crazy.”

The path continued out her door and down the wide hallway and a hysterical part of Darcy’s brain was almost able to convince her to start singing _Yellow Brick Road_.

Thankfully, she resisted.

Once she got close enough to hear the voices of everyone else, Darcy didn’t need the light. Feeling oddly shy, she silently made her way into the utterly massive kitchen and living room (now she understood why FRIDAY called it the commons). Everything about the place was high tech, hard steel, and cool glass.

The counter, however, was strewn with greasy cardboard pizza boxes, wings, and liters of soda. Darcy stared at it for a long time and then a slow smile bloomed on her lips. Something about the sight made her feel more at home than she had since the moment she walked into the Compound with Thor. Plus, oh my fucking god, she was getting real food and not strange soup or that shitty-ass astronaut freeze-dried crap.

_Praise Thor._

There was a general murmur of conversation and the occasional laugh. Most of the boxes were open and had slices missing but Darcy spotted a double pepperoni with no small amount of glee. She quickly snagged two slices, slapping them on top of one another, and a napkin and then stilled, holding her plate, looking around for a place to sit. 

It was a room full of people and Darcy realized, in that second, that she didn’t really know anyone. At least not well enough to interrupt and ask if she could sit with them (flashbacks of her awful high school years flared in her mind). Thor was the exception though and it was easy to find him in the crowd. He was sitting with the other Avengers, deep in conversation, and his back was to her. She watched them for a moment, their serious expressions and mostly empty plates, before making her decision.

Taking her pizza and grabbing a second napkin, Darcy turned and quietly left.

* * *

He watched as she filled her plate and walked out, shoulders hunched in a way that twisted his gut. Before it even registered what he was doing, Steve was on his feet excusing himself.

* * *

“Hey FRIDAY?” Darcy swallowed down her mouthful of cheesy goodness. “Can I get access to the roof here?”

There was a pause and Darcy imagined the machine was thinking.

“ _May I inquire as to your plans, Ms. Lewis?_ ”

Darcy’s full lips pursed. She stood outside her room, one slice of pizza already down her gullet, sitting in her belly with a warm satisfaction that only a New York style pie could bring. Wracking her brain for a reason, she finally shrugged, “Because I want to watch the stars come out.”

“Don’t worry, FRIDAY, I’ll show her.”

Darcy’s eyes became as wide as saucers.

Pulse jumping in her throat, she whirled around, nearly losing her pizza in the process. Steve was coming up the hallway, his steps slow and steady and with all the confidence in the world. Eyes the color of clear northern oceans locked on her in a way that rolled over her skin like electrified silk, making her shiver. She wasn’t even sure if the man was aware of the effect his gaze had.

Or, by the small smirk gracing his lips, maybe he was. Darcy narrowed her eyes and the smirk grew.

Oh, he _definitely_ knew.

“ _Thank you, Captain_.” FRIDAY answered and Darcy didn’t say a word as the man came to a stop beside her. He stared down at her and Darcy couldn’t breathe.

“So, you want to go up on the roof?” Steve asked, lifting a brow. “Follow me.”

* * *

She was staring at his ass.

It wasn’t her fault. The staircase up to the roof was narrow and he was tall and she was very short and somehow that put her at face to ass level with Steven Grant Rogers. Anyone in her position would stare at his perfect ass. What made it even better was finishing off her second slice of pizza as they made their way up the stairs. 

_Dinner and a show_ , Darcy grinned naughtily.

She was sadly forced to tear her eyes away when they reached the top and Steve muscled open a door, leading out onto a large deck. Mild spring air wafted towards her, like it had been waiting for her arrival so it could wrap around her bones with the scent of rich earth and _life_. Darcy’s eyes slid shut with a sigh at the strength and sensation of it, breathing it deeply into her lungs and letting it fill every inch of her body.

“It’ll be a bit before the stars are out.”

Steve’s voice was nothing but a soft murmur and Darcy hummed, keeping her eyes closed. Her lips slowly curved into a smile—the real kind, not a careful, closed lip one, not one tinted by grief, but one that felt like it started at her toes and gradually encompassed her entire being. She smiled so big she thought her face might split in two. 

Slowly, she opened her eyes, expecting Steve to be gazing up at the sky, but he wasn’t. He was watching her, his eyes washing over every inch of her face, drinking her in. Darcy tried not to squirm under the weight of his stare.

“I don’t mind waiting,” Darcy shrugged and moved past him to stand at the edge of the roof near the railing. The metal was cool against her skin as she bent and leaned her elbows on it. 

A second later, Steve appeared beside her. He was in a black leather jacket that looked far too fucking good on the man, and Darcy didn’t even try to keep her eyes off of him this time. It was becoming useless anyway. He was very pretty after all. She tilted her head, lips still curved in a smile, and openly stared.

As if he was aware of her attention, Steve turned his head and glanced down at her, lifting one dark brow.

“I’m glad you made it back.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could pull them back in. But they rang true. She was glad. They hadn’t gotten the chance to speak since he returned, both of them swept up in the chaos of moving locations and all that occurred in their altercation with Thanos.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, turning his body her way and leaning his elbow against the railing. There was almost something boyish in his tone; boyish and… hopeful?

His sheer mass blocked out the cool spring breeze and Darcy had the crazy notion of scooting closer to burrow into his tempting warmth. Instead, she stayed very still, curling her toes, and bit her lip before releasing it. Slanting a mischievous look at the man, Darcy quipped, “Of course, Muscles, who else is going to make coffee for me to come mooch off of in the middle of the night?” 

Steve laugh was low and dangerous and rich, all hot fudge brownie in sticky syrup. His eyes glittered in the quickly fading light.

“Is that all I’m good for then?”

The question was innocent enough and if it were anyone else asking, she wouldn’t have thought twice. But there was something in Steve’s voice and the way it deepened to a low, almost gravely quality that made Darcy want to squirm.

Wings of a bird fluttered in her stomach climbed up her throat setting her pulse to double the rate. 

“Oh no,” Darcy shook her head, her tone matching his, dipping into a well of desire. “I’m sure you’re good for other things, too.”

“Like what?” Steve challenged and heat bloomed in her core.

Her eyes became hooded and the smile slowly fell from her lips as she told him in a barely-there whisper, “Use your imagination, Steve.”

For a very long moment, Steve just held her gaze and then he languidly reached for her hand, like it was something he did all the time. A small part of Darcy lifted its head and started to yell, wondering what in the hell they were doing—what _she_ was doing—but it faded the instant his thumb brushed a dangerous stroke over the petal-soft skin on the back of her hand.

It was funny, how one tiny move felt like it set her ablaze. Those flames gave her a rare form of courage.

Darcy turned her hand over so their palms touched and she intertwined their fingers. Naturally, her body shifted toward him, a puff of breath leaving her lips as her eyes slowly dragged up to his face. Her gaze darted between his eyes and then, a cry tore through the night. 

Gasping, her blood jumping under her skin, Darcy whipped around, peering into the growing dark for the source. 

Along the tree line, the silver gleam of the Skrulls ship caught her attention, or more like the movement near it. Faintly, she could see shadows of Skrulls had gathered, tilting their faces to the sky, bellowing out a chorus of haunting wails. The sounds weaved together, rising to the sky like the trumpet of silver horns and though it had no words that Darcy could understand, the sound itself was a melancholy thing. 

“What are they doing?”

“It’s a funeral,” Steve answered quietly, eyes heavy and locked on the Skrulls, “for the one they lost.”

Darcy made a soft noise in the back of her throat. “It’s beautiful.”

Steve shifted on his feet, almost agitated, saying nothing in response. Darcy watched him with an amused brow as the man ran his tongue over his teeth and all but glared at the mourning creatures. It reminded her of a toddler about to throw a fit and Darcy pressed her lips together to hold in her laugh.

“You alright there, Steve?” She asked, the words wrapped in a smile.

The flat look he leveled on her made Darcy laugh out loud. He rested his hands on his hips, lowering his gaze to the ground. “Am I that obvious?”

“A bit.”

“Can you blame me?” Steve’s brows rose slightly in the middle and his eyes slowly skimmed up from the ground to meet hers again, hitting her with one hell of a devastating look from under his lashes.

He waited for her answer and it was like they were back on the ice, tiptoeing and inching their way closer to the other. Darcy had a choice in this moment, she knew it clear as day and she knew it with every inch of her being. Steve was offering something, a hand for her to grasp and hold onto, one that would keep her from drowning but also lead her down a path she had never dreamed of taking. One she wasn’t sure she was made to walk.

She could either reach out and take hold or fall through to the frigid depths. 

“You know,” Darcy wet her lips in a low murmur. She inched a step closer. “I thought you were going to kiss me earlier, back at the safe house.”

A beat of silence.

Steve reached out and grabbed a lock of her hair, bright blue eyes watching with fascination as it curled around his finger.

“And if I was?” Steve asked, his voice deep and low and Darcy felt it in her toes.

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

Her throat froze and her hand flew up as if she could catch the words and pull them back down. Panic, sheer panic flooded her veins.

The shock on Steve’s face was clear and he blinked, dropping the lock of hair in his fingers. “Darcy, if I’ve been reading you wrong—”

“—Oh God, no wait, I didn’t mean—” Darcy squeaked out and then promptly buried her face in her hands, face heating in an almost painful manner. She hunched her shoulders, turning her back to Steve absolutely horrified and then her mouth took over, mumbling through her fingers, “I still want you to kiss me, but— _shit_ ,” Darcy’s eyes bulged because _oh my god_ what was she doing and why couldn’t she stop? “Oh fuck. Damn it all to hell why can’t I— _ugh_.”

With a loud groan (that also might have been close to a sob), Darcy’s hands slid away and she turned her face to the night sky above, pleading with a miserable twist of her lips, “Hey Thor, if you chose to strike me with lightning right now, that would be great.”

There was a long moment of quiet and then two big hands wrapped around her upper arms and Darcy jerked in response. 

“Darcy.”

She rolled her lips over her teeth and pressed them together, _hard_ , purposefully keeping her back to the man and her gaze on the sky. “Hmm?”

“Sweetheart, can you look at me?” The question was soft and prodding and her throat worked for a second. His thumbs swept over her skin leaving goosebumps in their wake and she could feel the heat of him at her back.

Sucking in a lungful of bracing air, Darcy slowly turned in his arms. She stared directly as his broad chest, feeling an odd mixture of stubborn and shy. A knuckle tucked under her chin and she allowed him to lift her face.

They were covered in shadow mostly, a few stars twinkling through the growing night. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could make out the faint expression of confusion and concern on Steve’s face. He was shaking his head, voice soft, “Want to explain what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

 _No, not really._ Darcy thought loudly and grumpily. _And don’t call me pretty. I’m having a moment here._

She tried her best to keep her voice nonchalant. 

“I’ll be completely honest, part of me is convinced this whole thing between us, whatever it is, is just chopped up to our environment,” Steve’s brows pulled together at her words and he said nothing, so Darcy continued as detached as she possibly could be. “The world is ending, tensions are high, emotions are rampant and uncontrolled… And you… I mean, look at you.”

Darcy flapped her hand at his general physique as though that explained everything.

“What about me?”

Her hand lifted to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You’re you and I’m… I’m _me_.”

“What does that have to do with anything, Darcy?” His tone bled with frustration and confusion and something that was almost like hurt.

Her shoulders lifted, almost touching her ears, and she shifted on her feet uncomfortably. 

Finally, she breathed out in a very small voice, “I’m a nobody, Steve. I’ve always been a nobody. I’m not like you.”

Steve’s jaw clenched and she watched his eyes narrow unhappily, like he was building a response in his head. Darcy pressed on before he could interrupt because he needed to understand.

“And if you had kissed me before you left to go face Thanos—for what you thought might be your death—I would’ve felt pretty used. Like I was some last hurrah, a check off your list. Even if I wanted it in that moment, later, it would have haunted me,” Darcy’s voice had grown quieter and quieter the longer she spoke and it was like she was taking the lid off of a very ugly part of her, one that had been living in her head for years, reinforced by past failed relationships and her own crippling self-doubt. 

The funny thing was, finally saying this shit out loud was almost relieving.

“I want someone who wants me when I’m not just the last option,” Darcy finished at last, realizing how fucking sad she sounded.

_Good god._

Quickly, Darcy swept at the wet clumps of her eyelashes, brushing away any traces of tears before they could fall. She folded her arms, tucking in on herself in the silent aftermath of her little speech, flicking her gaze off to the side.

“Sorry if I upset you,” she mumbled, feeling the need to fill the overwhelming silence with something.

Steve visibly flinched back from her words, squinting at her in disbelief, “What? _God Darcy_ , no, you didn’t upset me,” he told her with a firm shake of his head. And then his eyes _burned_ with something akin to violence. “You want to know why I’m angry? Because I want to bury every man in the ground who ever made you feel like you were second best. They can go to fucking hell for all I care.” Darcy’s eyes went very wide and she oh so slowly turned to him. Steve let go of her and was gripping the railing so hard, she was pretty sure it hand dented with the outline of his fingers. “You’re not a nobody to me. Or Thor. Hell, Tony is back only because you had the idea to go get to _TeleThor_. Not to mention, Carol is here and as a result those fifty people are still alive because you were a part of finding that pager. You might not be on the frontlines, but we needed you.”

Darcy was quiet, so very quiet and Steve released the railing. He breathed for a moment, calming down and Darcy’s mind was a blur. 

She hadn’t expected all of… that.

“Steve…” When she spoke his name, it came out of her throat soft and vulnerable. She inhaled deeply and opened her mouth… only to freeze when he put his finger to her lips.

Her eyes went wide and Steve removed his finger, his throat working, pulse jumping wildly beneath his skin, like it was trying to escape.

“I’m not done yet.”

Steve’s eyes seared her skin. He wet his lips, his voice so low it was almost gravely, “And maybe I haven’t been clear, and I admit this isn’t the best timing so maybe I am doing this wrong. But… I’m interested in you Darcy. Not because there’s no other option but because you’re like this lone lighthouse standing on a shore, burning _so goddamn bright_ that it almost hurts.” Darcy all but stopped breathing. Steve watched her, eyes darting between both of hers. “It’s like you’ve called me out of the fog.”

Her lips fell open and Steve stepped forward, slowly reaching his hand up to cup her jaw. There was a slight quirk to his lips as he eyes slid down to her mouth and stayed there. “And for the record, I first wanted to kiss you when we were in that hallway before Thor interrupted.”

Stupidly, Darcy blinked at him, grasping for something to say and only coming up with a soft, “ _Oh_.”

Steve’s responding grin was feral.

Darcy squeaked, realizing that she had done the thing again. She groaned out an embarrassed, “Oh god, don’t say it.”

“Say what?” Steve asked around a laugh, his hand naturally dropping to her waist, the second joining it a moment later, like he couldn’t stop himself from touching her.

Grinning, she blurted with a bright blush, “Shut up, Steve.”

There was a funny little pause and Darcy watched the thought flit through Steve’s eyes before it jumped out of his mouth.

“Make me.”

It was a dangerous challenge and Darcy was highly aware of his hands spanning the length of most of her waist. He was huge, thumbs dangerously close to the underwire of her bra and he looked content to just wait there for the rest of eternity—or at least until she had made up her mind.

Above, the stars twinkled, and Darcy glanced up at them for a moment and felt their glow fill the empty spaces of her soul. Smiling at them, she made her choice and reached up, grabbing a handful of Steve’s shirt, and pulled his mouth down to hers.

Darcy had kissed plenty of other men; kissing them felt like melting, moments of lost breath and butterflies and all things sweet. Kissing Steve was like being conquered and Darcy didn’t know what to think about the level to which she enjoyed it.

It was long, deep, and sensual, as if his lips and his tongue were desperately pulling at her soul and Darcy gave it willingly. She might have pulled him down to her, but Steve was in complete control. Like a spark falling into a pool of gasoline, an instant rush of fire lit Darcy from inside as his mouth slanted over hers in a manner that made her dizzy with pure want. Everything in her tingled and she lifted up onto her toes, clutching at the lapels of his jacket, pressing herself as close as she possibly could. 

His hands shifted, splaying onto her back and he groaned into her mouth as his kiss slowed. Steve didn’t pull away but his kiss became softer, full of light, lingering brushes, like she was a particularly delicious dessert that he wanted to take his time enjoying.

Curled fists flattened against his chest and Darcy smiled into the kiss, enjoying the way his muscles twitched beneath her palm. 

Steve pulled away, looking down at her, dazed, and Darcy realized that she was all but precariously balancing on her tippy toes, practically having climbed the poor man like a jungle gym. She pressed her lips together, cheeks heating as she slowly lowered back onto her heels.

It didn’t go past her notice that Steve kept her firmly against him as she slid back down.

“We clear now?” Steve asked with all the male satisfaction in the world.

Darcy bit her lip and slowly released it, enjoying the way his eyes flew down to the motion. “Mm. I think so.”

They stared at one another and Darcy realized how easy it would be to become lost in this man. Steve was a commanding presence and something in her all but wanted to bask in it—to give in to him so completely.

“You scare me, you know,” Darcy admitted quietly.

Steve’s hands slid up and down her back. “Why?”

“Because,” Darcy started, running her index finger over his chest, her voice a mere whisper, “I tell you things that I can’t even seem to tell myself.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Darcy shook her head. “It just is.”

A breeze blew over them, catching a stray lock of her hair, pulling it across her forehead. She licked her lips and tasted remnants of his kiss and desire shot through her, straight to her core. Not wanting to get too overwhelmed, Darcy cleared her throat and purposefully stepped back. Steve let her go, but he grabbed her hand, linking their fingers, like he was ready to tug her back at any given moment.

It made Darcy giggle in a girlish way that she hadn’t done for years, but my god, she couldn’t help herself because _holy shit_ she just made out with Captain America.

* * *

He held her hand all the way back to her room and Steve may have pressed her against her door, kissing the ever-loving daylights out of her once again. Of course, that might have been because Darcy was tugging at his neck, pulling him down to her level.

Steve broke it off with a wet smack and Darcy chased his lips, her eyes still closed. “You should get some rest.”

“Uh huh,” Darcy breathed out and then her eyes shot open when she realized how close to a moan that was.

Looking utterly pleased, Steve stuck his hands in his pockets and slowly backed away, eyes locked on her, a stupid smile plastered on his face.

“Goodnight, Darcy.”

She blushed brightly, heart hammering in her chest, her cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “Night, Steve. Sleep well.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Darcy blindly reached for the doorknob behind her and twisted it before turning on her heels and disappearing into her room. It shut with a quiet click and she fell against the door with a sigh resembling her sixteen-year-old self. And then Darcy began to laugh, careful to cover her mouth with both hands in case Steve would hear.

After a long moment, she sighed and opened her eyes.

She wasn’t alone.

Darcy could feel the blood drain out of her face turning it bone white as one of the creatures that had accompanied Thanos stepped out of the corner where the gravitational sticks were. 

It was slim and awful looking with a balding hairline and she realized that she recognized it from that horrifying day at the grocery store—he had been the voice for Thanos, he had been the one to lock eyes with Thor and know who he was and not say a word. Darcy froze in complete and utter panic, her breath locking inside her lungs.

The creature turned and pointed at the machine, “ _That_ is a very dangerous thing.” 

And then Darcy screamed.

He lunged for her, moving faster than she even knew was physically possible, scaly hand flying over her mouth, muffling her cry as he easily spun her and pulled her hard against him, effectively caging her in. Hot breath fanned over her ear as he whispered harshly, “ _Quiet!_ ”

But it was too late.

The door to her room all but exploded. Wood chips flew like needle projectiles as Steve broke down the door. Darcy clawed at the hand over her mouth, but the creature was stronger than she expected, stronger than he looked, and he jerked her hard once, her head snapping back and forth at the sudden motion making her vision go white for an instant. He physically moved them back a few more feet and she stumbled, having no choice but to be dragged along; he was careful to keep Darcy as the barrier between him and Steve.

Darcy’s eyes were wide and pleading and so fucking scared. Steve surged toward her—

“Don’t,” The creature warned, jerking her once more as Steve looked like he was about to ignore the command. “I only ask for one thing,” it said and Steve’s jaw clenched. The creature inhaled. “I want to see my brother.”

Steve just looked at it, panting, eyes flicking between Darcy and the creature before he shook his head. “Brother?”

A green shimmering light answered, washing the room in its glow, and Darcy felt the shift slide over her skin, tingling and prickling. Her eyes flew to the mirror on the wall and she went very still as the creature transformed into none other than Loki.

In shocked silence, Steve finally breathed out—

“ _You gotta be shitting me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -paints nails- Why hello there. I have been dying to get to this part of the story. Ignition will have three arcs and in the next couple of chapters we are coming close to the end of the first arc. So exciting! It’s all leading up to stuff, I *promise* you that, friends. Thank you for trusting me on this journey. But… MOTHERFUCKING LOKI. I’ve never written him. I am terrified to write him. I love him. Help.
> 
> FUN NOTE: I shared an Ignition Spotify Playlist on my [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) recently. You should hop on over so you can give it a listen. It’s all moody and shit, plus there are fun sneak peeks and manips and ramblings!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SNEAK ATTACK SURPRISE CHAPTER! Because if I am this excited then I shouldn't make you wait either and fuck it, we could all use the pick-me-up these days. So. Um. 
> 
> Yeah, who am I kidding, let’s get right to this.

“ _You gotta be shitting me._ ”

There was a terrifying heartbeat where Darcy could do nothing but stare at the dark-haired god in the mirror, looming over her shoulder, his hand covering her mouth tight enough that her teeth cut into her lips. Loki, engaged in a standoff with Steve who was clearly the biggest threat, gave no notice to Darcy, using her like a human shield and nothing more. For a few seconds, Darcy could not think, could not strategize; it didn’t matter that she was useless in Loki’s grip and stood no chance of freeing herself. All she felt was terror.

“I am not going to wait forever,” Loki’s voice slid over her skin, his breath puffing over the top of her head, shifting the delicate hairs. “Go fetch my brother.”

Steve’s body was held in a way that promised violence, but his voice was deceptively calm. His eyes did not budge from the god’s gaze.

“I’m not leaving without her.”

Loki chuckled and Darcy felt it before she heard it, the way it built in his belly and traveled up his chest and through his throat. He shook his head lightly and smiled. Fucking _smiled_. Like he was enjoying this. “Oh, but you’re going to have to. There’s not much of a choice here.”

For a moment, all Darcy could hear was the way she huffed and puffed in air through her nose above his hand, like a racehorse. Neither Steve nor Loki moved. Adrenaline began to fill her body, there was a rushing noise in her ears, her heart was pounding, and her skin seemed to be vibrating.

And then, Darcy snapped back to herself, suddenly, slapping her hand over Loki’s. She used her nails to claw and rake at his skin. His reaction was immediate, a hiss escaping his mouth as she drew blood. Loki didn’t let her go, but he did lower his hand to her throat instead, tightening it in warning.

It may have made the situation worse for her, but it accomplished what she needed.

She rasped out, voice scratching as though she had smoked a pack of cigarettes every day for years, “FRIDAY, get Thor.”

“ _I have informed them of the situation, Miss Lewis_ ,” the AI replied instantly and behind her, Loki went very still.

“How clever.” In the mirror, she saw his eyes flicker down to her before flying back to Steve. He kept his gaze on the man as he spoke to her. “You’re not Jane.”

“No, I’m not,” Darcy rasped, her lips twisting as she added, “ _dickwad_.”

Steve stayed very still, but Darcy got the distinct feeling that he was amused, despite the situation. Loki, however, was far less amused.

“Such a crude mouth.”

“You _really_ don’t have a place to comment on manners when you’re holding me hostage,” Darcy bit out, her voice becoming mean. She jerked in his arms again to no avail and Loki clucked his tongue at her, tightening his grip around her middle.

A second later, he was covering her mouth once more.

“That’s better,” she could hear the smile in his voice. Steve’s eyes had gone very dark, his body tensed up like a lion’s. Loki eyed him and then slowly his face opened, brows lifting in realization, “Have I struck a chord, Captain?”

Steve never got the chance to answer. A bright flash of lightning struck just outside her window, followed by a crack of thunder so loud that it shook the damn building. The mirror fell off of her wall and shattered, taking away Darcy’s eyes on the god. Every individual hair on her arms raised and the god behind her stiffened.

Thor had finally arrived.

He entered the room slowly, his eyes glowing a pure white, tendrils of moving lightning crackled around his hands and slithered up his arms. Darcy had known Thor was a god before all of this, it had been just a simple fact, but this was the first time in her life that, in looking at him, she actually believed it. Thor didn’t say a word, his face stoic, and that silence was more frightening than if he had barged in with a bellow.

Darcy felt Loki take a steadying breath behind her before he mildly called out, “Hello brother, have you missed me?”

“Release Darcy.”

When Thor spoke, it was not just Thor. There were thousands of other voices, molding together, blending, giving his command an echo of another world entirely.

Steve had not moved an inch, but his eyes did flicker more than once to the God of Thunder. Darcy tried to stay very still.

“I have no interest in harming the woman, Thor,” Loki was saying lowly, like he was speaking to a cornered animal. “And I would appreciate it if your friends provided me the same courtesy.” 

Darcy watched as the light gradually dissipated from Thor’s eyes and the lightning retracted back into his hands. His expression remained hard and unyielding.

“Why would they, with all that you have done to their world and now, to one of their own?”

She blinked at the idea of being ‘one of their own’, but didn’t have time to think on it before Loki answered, “Does she look to be injured?”

Thor’s eyes dropped to her face, swiftly searching for any sign of pain.

“Loki, why are doing this?” Thor asked after a long moment, his voice a strange mixture of exhaustion and disappointment. 

“I want to strike a deal. Believe it or not, brother, you do not want to harm me.”

“Why is that?” Steve asked from beside Thor, his words heavy and looking for all the world like he very much wanted to harm the god.

Loki slanted a look his way. “Because I have something you need and I’m not going to give it up without negotiating.”

“Then release Darcy and we will speak,” the God of Thunder commanded.

Green eyes flashed to Thor and they narrowed into thin slits.

“First, I need an oath that I will be allowed to leave this place freely if I so choose,” he paused and then added, “Do we have an accord?”

For a heartbeat, Thor and Loki looked at each other. And then a voice spoke up from the back, soft in volume but laced with an underlying threat.

“We do.”

Loki jerked slightly and Darcy grunted. Both Thor and Steve shifted to make room for Bruce as he casually entered her room. It suddenly felt far too small for all of them.

Bruce had his hands in his pockets, his expression serene. Darcy might have believed the act if she didn’t see the look in the scientist’s eye.

“Banner,” Loki called out and it sounded almost like a curse.

A soft smile is the only greeting Bruce offered. He ambled a little closer, his voice calm and careful and laced not with a threat but a _promise_. “You can leave freely. But you will not harm a single being in this place and if you do… then we hunt you down like the snake that you are. Simple as that.”

Loki seemed to consider his words for a moment. Darcy felt his chest expand and he inhaled and then simply said, “Deal. Take her.”

In an instant, she was released, and Darcy stumbled away from the god, nearly tripping over her feet. Thor caught her before she hit the ground and then promptly handed her to Steve. Darcy gasped but Steve took her easily, glancing down, cupping her cheek, silently asking if she was alright. She only nodded jerkily in response, and then he tucked her behind him.

Hands reached for her and Darcy nearly screamed before she saw that it was Natasha. The woman was pulling her further back, out of her room and into the hallway where Stark and the spider-kid were waiting. Both of their expressions were grave, but there was something swirling in Stark’s that gave Darcy pause. She glanced down to the Iron Man glove he wore—it was clenched in an unforgiving fist.

“Stay here,” Natasha commanded while somewhere in Darcy’s room, a body was thrown into the wall.

* * *

Pain exploded in the back of Loki’s head like the birth of a new star. His throat contracted; air squeezed out of it in the grip of a meaty hand. His instincts wanted to claw at it, to fight, but Loki slowly shut his eyes and focused on remaining calm.

Really, he had expected this sooner.

“What gift did Mother give you on your fiftieth birthday?” Thor growled out

He opened his mouth and tried to speak but found that it was nearly impossible. Giving Thor a hearty glare, he found his brother unmoved and unbothered to lighten his hold.

“A… key,” Loki gasped out and Thor’s eyes narrowed, his teeth baring as he spoke.

“To _what?_ ”

“To… her spell book. It was… the start of…” Loki’s eyes bulged, becoming watery with the effect to keep conscious. “Start of… my training.”

All at once, the hand at his throat fell away and Loki would have collapsed if it weren’t for the bulky arms that wrapped around him next. He grunted in surprise as Thor, who had just been choking the life out of him, now was crushing him to his chest.

It was a little too tight, as though the embrace was a mixture of fierce relief and underlying anger. 

“You are a most confusing brother,” Loki grunted as he tried to pull back.

Thor shook him once, his words nearly a growl, “And _you_ are infuriating!” Thor pushed him away after that, his face was red with anger but eyes bright with something else entirely. Loki realized, in that moment, just how close to breaking his big brother was. He had never, in all of his years, seen Thor like this.

“How many times do I have to watch you die, Loki?” Thor exploded, throwing his arms out to the side. “ _HOW MANY?_ ”

Like some bodyguard, the Captain stood off to the right, watching what should be a private exchange with his arms crossed and an expression made of stone. Loki eyed him before his gaze drifted back to his brother.

Loki wanted to say other things, but under the careful watch of the Captain and the others just outside the door, he lifted his brow haughtily and fell into his most natural defenses. Pretending to brush off nonexistent dust from his shoulder, Loki hummed out a nonchalant, “Well, this time I brought a gift. Don’t you at least want to know what it is?”

“Gift? I do not care about gifts, Loki,” Thor bellowed out, his voice hoarse with emotion and Loki sighed. “What in the nine realms could you possibly have that would make any of this acceptable?”

Emerald eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire and Loki’s lips slowly curved like he knew a secret.

“An infinity stone.”

* * *

She watched, still panting, as Thor all but dragged Loki out of her room and down the hall. Her muscles were trembling as the adrenaline began to fade and all of her limbs suddenly felt heavy. The others followed the two gods, silent and watchful. Steve was the last to leave her room and when he exited, his eyes locked on her, giving her a quick once over, as if to reassure himself that she was, in fact, okay.

Darcy gave him a weak thumbs up.

“Steve,” Natasha had turned around at the other end of the hall, waiting for him.

“We’ll be there soon,” he said easily. Natasha hesitated, intelligent eyes flashing back and forth between Darcy and him. 

“Be quick.”

If Darcy had not just had the shit scared out of her, she might have blushed at the spy’s clear implication. But as it was, she didn’t really give a damn.

Steve was watching her, taking in the way her hands shook and the paleness of her skin combined with the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. She was sure she looked quite ill. Once the others were out of earshot, Steve told her quietly.

“You don’t have to go to this. You can stay behind, if you want.”

Well, that fucking hurt.

“He showed up in _my_ room and took _me_ hostage,” she said and her voice was not exactly shaking. His words were picking at a freshly revealed wound. Clenching her jaw, Darcy flicked her eyes over Steve and then turned on her heel and began walking after the others, not caring if the man followed or not. “I’m going to this meeting.”

Footsteps hurried after her and a hand pulled on her arm. Darcy swung around harshly. Steve let go, flinching back and lifting his hands in the air, his face alarmed.

“I didn’t mean it that way, I swear,” Steve rushed out. He stopped and then shook his head, his voice calmer. “You’re pretty shaken up, Darcy. I wanted to make sure you were okay and let you know that if you needed to take some time, that you could.”

“I appreciate it,” Darcy said, her tone hard. She crossed her arms, one brow lifting as she continued in that same manner, “But I don’t have the luxury of time to rest and recover. No one does.”

Steve just looked at her for a long time and then scoffed. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it lightly in frustration, “Do you have something against people wanting to take care of you?” Hurt shone clear in Steve’s blue eyes as he muttered out, “You let Thor do it all the time. Why am I any different?”

Darcy blinked, her lips falling open.

“It’s not that, Steve. I… I don’t want to be treated differently than everyone else—like I can’t handle this,” Darcy told him, shifting on her feet uncomfortably.

“Okay,” Steve said slowly with an even slower nod. He reached for her shoulders and ducked down so he purposefully caught her gaze. The look in his eyes offered no bargain, “But you need to understand this _right now_. I’m _going_ to treat you differently because I _care_ about you, Darcy. Not because I don’t think you’re capable.” Her lips trembled and Steve’s gaze softened. His hands slid down her arms soothingly. “Sweetheart, you’re not the only one who got shaken up in there. I never want to see anything like that again.”

At that, Darcy sucked in a wet breath and nodded. She didn’t know how he did it, but Steve seemed to so easily be able to slide past every one of her defenses, as though they weren’t even there—or as if he had a secret map that led him through the maze. Darcy didn’t understand how someone could look at what terrified her the most, stare it in the face, and not want to run.

“C’mere,” she heard him rumble after a moment and Darcy didn’t fight the pull into his arms. 

She clutched at him, fingers twisting in the material of his shirt, squeezed her eyes shut and simply breathed. Lips brushed against the top of her head, strands of her hair catching on the whiskers of his beard and it tickled.

“You still want to go?” Steve asked after a moment and Darcy wet her lips, nodding against him. He inhaled, “Okay then. Let’s go.”

* * *

“That was impressive,” Tony commented quietly as they followed the others back to the Commons. Next to him, Bruce smiled in that almost shy manner and shrugged. Tony narrowed his eyes and jerked his chin at the two gods keeping his voice low, “What are you going to do if he finds out that Hulk is playing hide and seek?”

“Erm. Let’s keep that our little secret.”

* * *

When Steve and Darcy arrived, the others were scattered around a large table (not your average table, Darcy suspected, given that this was Stark’s place—it probably was hiding some high-tech virtual map or computer system). Carol and Talos had joined as well, both looking alert. Darcy stopped on the outer edge of the group, half expecting Steve to continue on without her.

When he didn’t, she glanced up at him. He seemed content to stay right where he was and for some reason, her belly curled in pleasure knowing he chose to be at her side.

“Let’s see it, Reindeer Games.”

Across the room, Loki looked to Stark, eyes falling to the Iron Man glove still on his hand, before flicking back to his face. The god clasped his hands behind his back, considering.

“I’d like confirmation that I will be allowed to walk free from this place.”

His tone was smooth and he held the other man’s gaze without flinching. 

“Yeah, you’re not gonna get that,” on the side, Clint had taken out a knife and was casually holding it over the top of his forearm, lifting it up to his eyes and squinting down the length of it, as though he was inspecting the gleam of the metal. He flipped it expertly in his hands so that the knife lined up perfectly with the back of his forearm, hand wrapped tightly around the hilt.

“Then you won’t get the stone,” Loki reasoned simply.

“Fine by me,” Clint shrugged and there was a dangerous kind of look about him. It was retribution. 

Loki tilted his head, lips breaking into a swift, wide, humorless smile. “I know that I have harmed many in this room and countless others with my past choices. But it’s up to you if you wish to doom the rest of the universe because of your desire for self-seeking revenge.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You have our word,” Thor said at last. He slanted a look at his brother that was not exactly kind, “Do not make me regret this.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, brother.”

And then Loki unclasped his hands from behind his back and there was a bright flash of light, followed by a hum of electricity. He slowly brought his hands out in front of him and held between a thumb and forefinger was something that looked like a glowing, orange gem.

The reaction of the room was immediate. There was a collective gasp and Darcy joined in. Her eyes locked on the stone and something very strange happened. It was as though the voice that she liked best in the world was calling her name. It echoed in her mind, filling her body with a growing urge to step forward and take hold of it. The light emanating from the stone filled her eyes and it was liked being hypnotized—like the skies parted and opened a path that her feet were meant to tread. It called to her, singing her name.

Darcy stepped forward.

Instantly, Steve reached for her arm, pulling her back and the suddenness of his touch snapped Darcy back to herself. She shook, blinking rapidly, and looked around the room. No one had noticed, but she imagined that they all must be feeling something similar in the presence of such power. Still, her cheeks flushed hotly and Darcy let out a shaky breath. 

“I present to you,” Loki murmured reverently, “The Soul stone.”

It was a tempting thing, to continue staring at the stone. Darcy found that she had to tear her eyes away, look anywhere but directly at it, or the magnetic pull would start all over.

“How did you do it?” Thor was asking and his voice sounded as though it was underwater.

Darcy’s eyes screwed shut and she exhaled explosively, trying to come back to the present.

“I took the gauntlet right off his hand while Thanos was in a regeneration chamber recovering from his wounds and replaced it with a replica.”

Carol’s face opened, like sun shining through a window. Her dark eyes gleamed, “ _That’s_ why the gauntlet backfired on him.”

“Did it?” Loki asked, the words fell from his mouth dripping with pleasure. His smile was a slow bloom, “ _Good_.”

“How long have you had this?”

“A week,” he lifted his brow at Thor. “I wanted to take another, but time was against me. I chose to leave after I learned that he was going to slaughter the humans.”

Clint scoffed loudly and Natasha looked at the archer with heavy eyes.

Loki deadpanned, “Yes, believe it or not, I do not enjoy senseless slaughter. I may be the God of Mischief but I am _not_ the God of Death.”

“So,” Steve interrupted before Clint could go on a tirade, “we need to get the rest of the stones.”

Laughter answered Steve and Loki looked down at the stone in his hand. He tossed it in the air, and it was as if the stone dwelled within its own atmosphere—it did not fall. It drifted, spinning and floating in the air, weightless, like an astronaut would without gravity.

“You have what you need right before you. This is the stone Thanos is most covetous of.”

Steve frowned. “Why?”

Loki looked as though they should all know the answer. His eyes shot around the room and then he chuckled deeply.

“You are so helpless—”

“ _Loki_.” Thor was growing impatient with his brother and Darcy stared, fascinated, having never seen this side of him before. “Just answer the question.”

There was a moment of quiet and then the dark-haired god turned solemn. “Inside this stone resides the souls of those whom Thanos killed. Half of the universe is right here— _trapped_.”

Shock was a wave that rolled over them and Darcy’s eyes flew back to the stone—the instant she looked at it, the thing began singing again, ringing louder and louder in her ears. Her heart began to pound hard against her ribcage. If what Loki said was right… then that meant that Jane…

“Can we open it?” The question shook as it left Thor’s mouth, as though he had come to the same conclusion as Darcy had, and Loki narrowed his eyes at the stone unhappily.

“That is where it becomes complicated… This stone cannot be manipulated by your meager technology,” he cast a side glance at Stark before returning back to the stone. Dark brows pulled over his forest green eyes and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “It requires an exchange.”

He looked at the rest of them and for some reason beyond her knowledge, his eyes landed on Darcy.

“It requires a life.”

A jolt shot through her.

“All of this is great,” Stark began slowly, his eyes narrowed in distrust, “but why are you helping us? Now, of all times? Did you suddenly wake up one morning and decide, hm, I don’t want to destroy the world anymore? I don't buy it. How are we supposed to trust you?”

Silence.

Loki turned to Stark and his words were as soft as winter’s first snowfall.

“Because I loathe Thanos as much as any of you and I want to watch him _burn_.”

* * *

“I owe you an apology.” 

Darcy nearly jumped out of her skin. Her head whipped up to find Loki looming over her. She had been sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee (thanks to Steve). The meeting had broken up and it was agreed upon that Loki would be spending the evening in a cell of Stark’s choosing while the stone was kept in a secure room in the lab.

From the way Thor was following his brother around, Darcy imagined Thor was planning on staying the night with him to have _an exceptionally long_ talk.

“Leave her be, Loki,” Thor warned, his hand on his brother’s arm but Loki ignored him.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” the dark-haired god said easily, his voice kind, and Darcy didn't trust him at all. She frowned, her brows sharp in the way that they creased.

She very carefully set down her coffee mug and spun on her stool, glancing at Thor before flicking her eyes back to Loki.

“What did you mean then if it wasn’t to terrify me?”

His brow lifted, feigning innocence, “You simply had the gateway in your chambers. I had no choice as to where I appeared when I walked through it.”

“The gateway?”

“Yes,” Loki nodded as though he was speaking to a child and Darcy grit her teeth, “and we should shut it down, _right now_.”

She remembered then; the way Loki had first appeared near the gravitational sticks.

_That is a very dangerous thing._

He watched her and saw the moment she understood. “It opens from both sides and anyone who knows how to manipulate such things, like myself, can enter or leave any time they wish.”

Something pushed against her shin suddenly and Darcy looked down to see Goose giving her a friendly rub in greeting. Without thinking, Darcy bent down and picked him up. When she straightened, she near burst out laughing at the horrified look on Loki’s face.

“You have a _flerken?_ ” Loki asked, eyes wide as saucers, pulse jumping in his throat. 

Darcy grinned and cuddled the creature, rubbing her cheek against his velvety fur. Behind Loki, Thor was smiling at the ground. He had already met the creature and given them full warning but was apparently at much more ease with its presence after a lengthy discussion with Carol.

“This is my friend, Goose.” Darcy then smirked with a sick sort of pleasure and held him out to Loki, embracing her inner Brendan Fraiser and almost hoping that Loki would freak out like the mummy did. “ _Boo!_ ”

He did not, sadly, but Loki did lower his voice and go very, very still. “Lower your weapon, please.”

“Next time you scare me,” Darcy began and outright glared at the god, jutting her chin out, “I’ll have him _eat you_.”

She waited, letting her threat sink in, not really sure what she was doing but thoroughly enjoying it. Then, Darcy lowered Goose back to the ground and the creature trotted away. 

Loki was not amused.

“Duly noted.”

She smiled sweetly at him, kicking her legs lightly in the air. Thor stepped forward then, his hand returning to Loki’s arm with a firmness. “Come, Loki. We have much to discuss.” 

Darcy watched the two leave and she imagined the way the dark-haired god must be rolling his eyes at Thor with a shake of her head. Across the counter, Darcy caught Natasha sipping her own cup of coffee, brow lifted in a muted kind of amusement at the entire exchange. The redhead said nothing and Darcy twisted her lips.

“Flerkens, who knew?” She awkwardly shrugged, muttering, “Much more effective than guns if you ask me.”

* * *

The lights were a bright, hateful kind of florescent and he wanted nothing more than the warm tones of a fire. The ground beneath him was a cold, hard concrete when it should be soft furs from prizes he slayed himself. He ached for home and had ached for it for some time.

Loki thought that he always would ache for it.

“Why does it always have to be like this?”

On the other side of the glass, Thor shook his head. “That is a question you should be asking yourself, brother.”

“Well, I’m asking _you_ ,” Loki rolled his eyes dramatically from the ceiling to land on the blond god. He lifted his brows expectantly, “Have I not done my part? I brought you all a magnificent gift and what am I repaid with?” Loki paused and curled his lips in displeasure. “Distrust and imprisonment.”

Thor said nothing for a long time and Loki turned his gaze back to the ceiling, sliding a leg up so it bent to support his arm. He could have sat on the cot, but it looked far too short for his height and not nearly strong enough for his weight. He might be slim but looks were deceiving.

"They do not know you as I do and even I would say that this is the best option for the time being." Thor walked over to a nearby bench and sat down heavily. He rubbed his hand with both hands. “You have not only broken their trust but mine as well, time and time again.” Thor’s voice grew tired and agitated all at once, pinching the bridge of his nose, and the God of Mischief watched his brother with a cool eye. “What you did in this world, Loki—you wreaked havoc. It will take time for them to forgive that, some, like Clint, may never.”

“The archer I could understand,” Loki admitted quietly before he could stop himself. On the other side of the glass, Thor carefully lowered his hand. Gradually, Loki slid his gaze over to his golden brother, hitting him with a heavy look. “I know the very thing he experienced.”

“What do you mean?” Thor asked quietly and a burst of silent, humorless laughter left Loki's chest.

“You cannot think that it was all my own plan to attack Midgard?” The look Thor was giving him now clearly said that he did. Loki’s mouth tightened, quieting his tone, “When I fell from the bridge, I fell into darkness and was found by a creature made from such. Thanos. I admit, I was down a dark path already and had willingly started down it on my own, but he entered my mind and influenced my thoughts… I found that I was not myself.”

“Are you saying…”

Stunned, Thor let the question hang in the air and it was a long time before Loki admitted a soft—

“Yes, to an extent.”

Leaning back in his seat, Thor’s face pinched in genuine distress and Loki kept his gaze firmly on the light above, “Why did you not tell me earlier? I could have helped you back when father—”

“—I wish you would have wanted to help me regardless of whether you thought I was innocent or not.”

“I will always want to help you, Loki, because you are my brother. But because you are also my brother does not mean you have a free pass when there has been genuine wrong. Justice is still the right thing. I stand by that."

A sigh left the dark-haired god’s chest, “Then I guess it is fair for me to be in this cell.”

There was a pause from Thor.

“For now.”

His interest peaked at that, but Loki kept his face blank. “I will say, I am surprised. I thought you would honor your word—you said I could leave freely from this place if I gave up the stone.”

Another pause.

“Do you _want_ to leave, Loki?”

The question rang in his mind and Loki thought over it and found that he had no answer. His jaw ticked and he stood suddenly, walking over to the cot that was far too small. Cautiously, he sat down on it and bent over, resting his elbows on his knees. Intelligent green eyes swept over the golden-haired god.

“Did you lose her?” Loki asked suddenly and the shutters behind Thor’s eyes slammed shut. “Your Jane?”

“Yes,” he answered very carefully.

Loki merely nodded, his tone conversational. “And the woman—the one with the midnight hair and foul mouth, who is she?”

He had expected his brother to get upset at the insult, had almost wanted it, but oddly enough, Thor's lips curved fondly. “That is Darcy.”

“Hm.” He glanced down at his hand, flexing it and admiring the stinging, red claw marks. "Not often does a simple human draw blood."

"Darcy is full of surprises," Thor said with pride.

They fell quiet for a long time, a deep chasm stood between them, one that both had helped create. It echoed with memories, painful and sharp, and Loki realized that he himself had become an abyss quite some time ago and he didn’t know how to be anything else.

“You did a good thing tonight, Loki.”

He inhaled sharply, green eyes flying to Thor. Perhaps his brother was more perceptive than he previously thought. Loki scoffed.

“There was a time that I would have killed for the power flowing through that stone. Now I give it away freely. What’s become of me?”

“I would say that you sound almost like the makings of a hero.”

Loki recoiled inwardly at that word, letting out a bored sounding, “How dull.”

“Quite the contrary, little brother,” Thor told him quietly with a knowing look. “Quite the contrary.”

* * *

Darcy could not remember the last time she got a full night’s sleep. 

She blinked slowly, staring off into space, eyes completely vacant. Her mind kept floating back to the Soul stone and when she closed her eyes, she could see its pulsing glow with every beat of her own heart. 

Her coffee had long grown cold, but she clutched it between her hands anyway. It may or may not have been in danger of slipping out of her grip when Steve came along and snagged it, placing it on the counter in one smooth move. Darcy had a delayed startle reaction and she jumped, nearly gracelessly falling off her stool. It was a flail of limbs for her to stay upright.

Steve was laughing, a low, rich sound that made her want to sigh. He leaned his hip against the counter, turning his body toward her. Eyes trailed over every inch of her before softly murmuring, “You should go to bed.”

Darcy immediately laid her head down on the counter and closed her eyes breathing out a quiet, “’Kay.”

“I meant a real bed—your bed.”

“Mm,” was all Darcy could bring herself to say. Her eyes were now firmly shut and she could feel each muscle individually begin to turn off like light switches.

Hands reached under her arms and pulled her up to her feet, “C’mon,” Steve urged, “up you go.”

When Darcy’s legs refused to cooperate, Steve swiftly bent and swept them up, tilting her into his arms with ease. If she wasn’t half asleep and utterly not caring, Darcy would have squeaked and mostly likely demanded to be put down. 

Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and burrowed into his warmth. Her legs flopped with every step he took and it was like being rocked to sleep.

“You broke my room,” Darcy mumbled after a bit, her face pinching. 

The steps came to a standstill and she blearily opened her eyes, squinting at the blurry light directly above Steve’s pretty face. He gave her a worried look. “Where to, then?”

“Thor’s,” Darcy told him through an obnoxious yawn. “He’s gonna be with Loki all night anyway.”

He began walking again. “I’d offer mine,” Steve began slowly, his deep voice a vibration against her cheek as she used his chest for a pillow. After a hesitation, he finished his thought, “But it’s probably better for you to go to Thor’s.”

 _Probably_ , Darcy smiled not realizing that she never said the word aloud.

She didn’t know how Steve got into Thor’s room, but the next thing she knew, she was being tucked into a very large bed with the softest of sheets by the gentlest of hands. Sighing and immediately burrowing in deeper, Darcy’s body all but rejoiced at the idea of actual sleep.

Lips pressed lightly on her forehead and a hand gave her upper arm a squeeze. It was enough to make her turn her face upwards and whisper out a breathy request, “Kiss me?”

“I just did,” Steve chuckled quietly.

Darcy opened her sleepy eyes and frowned, “Not the kind I want.”

He stared down at her, his eyes soft. Warm hands slowly reached up and cupped her jaw in a feather light touch and Darcy’s eyes slid shut. Steve brushed his lips over hers like the wings of a butterfly and she sighed into his mouth. He pulled back and whispered, “Sleep.”

She did and she dreamed of a dark-haired man with a quick laugh, a kind heart, and a thick Brooklyn accent.

* * *

_“You ever miss who you used to be?”_

_Steve grunted, face down in the bed, eyes firmly shut. “Whad’ya mean, Buck?”_

_“Before all this,” came the soft reply and Steve nearly drifted off again. Bucky always liked to do most of his talking in the middle of the night. Steve never understood why, but he had been like that as a kid, too, always shaking him awake to tell him his next big idea._

_The bed dipped as Bucky clearly turned over to face him. Cool metal danced slowly up Steve’s bare back._

_“You remember when we had plans—before the war? We were gonna get a house in a nice neighborhood, white picket fence, kids… a girl.”_

_“I think the girl’s gotta come before the kids,” Steve mumbled. “Biology, you know.”_

_The light touch on his back withdrew. “Never mind,” the bed shook again, and Bucky tugged some of the sheets Steve had stolen back his direction. He muttered, “Go back to sleep.”_

_Well, shit._

_“Buck,” Steve called with a smack of his lips. He wiped the small amount of drool that had started to gather, suddenly alert. Bodily, Steve turned over, scooting closer to his lover until he was curled around his tense form. He pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss to the spot where his neck and shoulder met, murmuring a quiet but insistent, “I’m listening. What are you trying to say?”_

_A pause and Steve heard his wet sounding swallow._

_“I miss that dream, Stevie,” Bucky admitted, his words laced with a deep longing. “I still want it even if I can’t ever have it. Enough has been stolen from me and I hate that this was, too.”_

_Steve made a soft noise in the back of his throat. He curled in tighter around the man, as if he could hold him together by sheer strength alone. “How do you know it’s not still possible?”_

_“I just figured…”_

_“Figured what?”_

_“Well, for starters, you don’t seem that interested in bringing in a third anymore.” Steve went still and Bucky twisted his head, looking up at him in the darkness. “I haven’t heard you talk about it at all and it used to be_ your _idea in the first place.”_

_“I’ve been preoccupied,” was all Steve could bring himself to say._

_Bucky frowned and reached up to smooth out the crease between Steve’s eyes. “Pretty focused on making sure I’m not off my rocker, you mean.”_

_“You’re not.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Then stop saying that,” Steve ordered, leaning down and pressing his lips to Bucky firmly, driving home the point._

_The second they parted; Bucky was talking again. “Have you thought about it though?”_

_Steve sighed._

_“Honestly? No,” he shook his head, and moved up to lean on his elbow. He gazed down fondly at the dark-haired man. He searched for the words, clearly seeing the vulnerable desire in Bucky’s gaze and not wanting to crush it. “I’ve been on the run, Buck, you’ve been recovering here in Wakanda, and we’ve got a hell of a fight ahead of us tomorrow. We don’t even know if we’re both going to—”_

_“Hypothetically,” Bucky cut him off. “Say that we do, and things change, and we can go about a normal life… would you want that or is that time gone?”_

_Before answering, Steve paused. He knew how much this meant to the other man and there had been a time that it had been_ Steve _trying to convince_ him _. But it had been a long time since Steve had allowed himself the luxury of dreaming such things. His life had been hijacked by war and duty, both of which there seemed to be no end._

 _His eyes slid shut and Steve pictured, just for a moment, what Bucky had described. He pictured a home full of laughter and light and everything that was good and simple in this world and when he did, he saw Bucky but he also saw another. Steve couldn’t see her face, but she was there and he realized then that couldn’t ever picture her_ not _being there._

_Steve’s eyes shot open. His heart thumped hard once, twice, and then seemed to grow legs and crawl up his throat until it spilled out of his mouth in a desperate gasp, “Yes. I want it.”_

_Bucky watched him for a long time, like he could see the very thing inside Steve’s head, and then he nodded._

_"Okay.”_

_“Buck,” Steve asked, a little more than overwhelmed by the sudden flood of longing (he hadn’t realized how long he had been pushing that down, shoving it away and putting it under lock and key). “Why are you bringing this up now? Tonight of all nights?”_

_“Because,” Bucky swallowed hard, “if we die tomorrow, I want us to be able to dream of something good tonight.”_

_With a shaky inhale, Steve swooped down and captured Bucky’s lips. Bucky’s hands flew up into Steve’s hair, threading through the long locks and tugging. They kissed until they ran out of breath and Steve suddenly felt another kind of longing. He took a handful of Bucky’s hair and_ pulled _, tilting the other man’s head back to bare his throat and then Steve attacked it like a man starved. Even as Bucky groaned, he somehow managed to ask another question._

_“How would we know she was the right one?”_

_Steve heard him but it took a couple minutes until he was able to forcibly pull himself away. He had made his way down Bucky’s chest and stopped right over a nipple. Bucky hissed and arched when Steve licked it and blew cold air over the nub._

_His voice, when he was able to speak, was throaty and raw, “I think she’ll be special. Real special. And we would both know it.”_

_Those were the last coherent words either of them said for the rest of the night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit. I had so much fun writing Loki. I don't know if I got him right, but at least I had fun. Almost as much fun as I had reading the shocked comments last chapter. That was THE highlight of my week, not even kidding. It gave me all the feels. Thank you for everyone who has been on board with this wild plot and so supportive. We are certainly chugging along and I am pretty happy with where this fic is.
> 
> Don't forget to come say hello on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/). Lots of fun stuff over there and we can be fellow fandom geek buddies.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this fic really at almost 100K? Damn. Apparently I have no idea how to be brief. Speaking of which, this is 10k. Good god.

The first thing Steve registered was warmth. He slid out of sleep with a bleary awareness, like the slow rock of a train gradually emerging out of a long, dark tunnel. It was unusual for him—normally waking up was a sudden transition from unconsciousness to alert and ready, like a quick jerk. But this was different, and he found himself confused by the wetness on his cheeks and the emptiness of the bed he lay in. 

He frowned.

It wasn’t supposed to be empty.

Wiping at the strange tears, Steve’s throat bobbed with a hollow sigh. The sun was already shining through the windows, reaching him with soft, golden fingers; the sheets a cool whisper on his bare skin and for a moment, he just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. 

Sometimes the dreams of Bucky were so real, they were almost cruel. This one though, this one was like a knife in the gut. 

He didn’t have to ask why his subconscious decided to replay _that_ particular memory, Steve already knew. It had been a long time since he had a woman in his life (and he wasn’t sure there had ever been one as sweet and as soft as Darcy), long enough that Steve had all but given up on the idea until Bucky unearthed it the night before he went and turned to fucking ash. It’s like the jerk planted it there knowing what was coming and now, Steve couldn’t get it out of his head, the _want_ , and he blamed Bucky entirely.

It wasn’t fair to blame a dead man, he knew that, but he did anyway, because while he hadn’t lied to Darcy about his genuine interest in and desire for her, a very large part of Steve still missed Bucky so deeply that some days he couldn’t breathe. 

_I think she’ll be special. Real special. And we would both know it._

His heart twisted like a gnarled tree root in his chest. 

“We were supposed to find her together, Buck,” Steve breathed out to the empty room, voice cracking with emotion. “You and me.”

The irony of losing Bucky only to find Darcy was not lost on Steve. 

Every time Steve had something he wanted; life liked to snatch it right out of his hands. It never did it right away, it liked to toy with him, let him get comfortable and believe that everything was going to be okay before pummeling him like a pile of bricks. Fate had taken Bucky from him once before, then when he finally had him back and dared, just _dared_ , to dream of something more, it took Bucky from him again. 

Fucking _again_.

Given the pattern of things, Steve wondered, for the briefest of moments, if it was wise for Darcy to become attached to him. But the image of that home that Steve saw in his head all those weeks ago, the one with his family, was burned into his mind and with each passing day the picture was becoming clearer and clearer, the desire stronger. The longing was no longer a small thing or a fleeting thought. Darcy had made it a possibility and now, with the Soul Stone…

Steve Rogers never asked for much in this life, but he was asking for this. Maybe it was selfish or maybe he was being greedy wanting both of them, but Steve knew in that instant that if they had a chance of opening the Soul Stone and getting Bucky back no matter what, _he was fucking taking it_. 

* * *

“It’s a fake.”

The words were soft as they left his lips, but they carried and reverberated in the ship and he knew they would echo in every ear. Thanos stared down at the gauntlet, his rage a barely capped volcano. There were six stones in all, five aglow with that familiar pulsing power that called to him with his every waking breath, but the sixth—the sixth was _dead_. 

It was cracked clean through the middle, dull and lifeless. 

“How?” Proxima Midnight approached from the side slowly. Her lips curled back over her teeth. “Was this Ebony Maw’s doing?”

The fury lacing her words was palpable and it rippled over his skin. The day had brought many losses, grave losses, more than Thanos had originally realized. 

Corvus Glaive. 

The Soul Stone. 

But Ebony Maw… something did not sit right in the Titan’s gut. 

He didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to pry the broken remains of the dead stone out of the gauntlet. It crumbled further in his hand. A thought prickled in the back of Thanos’ mind as he examined the would-be Soul Stone. 

It was a fake.

It was not the _only_ fake. 

“This… is not the work of Ebony Maw,” Thanos said at last, his jaw clenching as he turned his hand to the side and watched the tiny amber shards tumble to the ground. “We had an imposter.”

His eyes flashed up, locking on Proxima Midnight.

“Someone has the Soul Stone and understands what’s inside. Find them and bring them to me—in pieces if you must,” his voice dropped low, “Use whatever means necessary.”

* * *

“So, how do you think it works?” Tony hooked his toes under the footrest of the stool he sat on and used the leverage to lean forward. He squinted at the orange gem suspended inside the Hulk-proof glass container. It rotated endlessly and Tony was glad to have the thing somewhat contained. The pull it had when it wasn’t disturbed him on multiple levels. “Like the magic lamp in Aladdin? All we’ve gotta do is give it a good rub and wish for the person we want to come back?”

“I know humor is your coping mechanism, but can we _not_ turn this into a joke?”

Dark eyes slanted in the direction of the brooding American Monument and Tony scoffed. “No can do, money and jokes are all I got, and I’d rather run out of money.”

A beat of silence.

“Maybe you wouldn’t find it as funny if the people you loved were trapped inside,” Steve bit out with sudden venom. He didn’t turn to look at Tony and the Soul Stone’s glow reflected in his blue eyes like twin embers. Steve’s jaw ticked; body tensed—like he could hit something (probably Tony).

“I did lose someone,” Tony answered, his expression sharp. Looking at Steve in all of his self-righteousness, Tony’s hackled raised. “In case you forgot, _Cap_ , Rhodey—the guy who lost his ability to walk as a result of our little disagreement. Yeah, he got Snapped. So, I’d say I’ve got a dog in this fight.”

Steve’s hand curled into a tight fist and Tony thought he heard the other man’s teeth grind together. When he spoke, his tone was muted, “I didn’t forget, Tony. I’ll never forget.” 

“Good.”

It was all Tony needed to say and the billionaire crossed his arms over his chest. Steve’s eyes slowly tore away from the stone. 

“Would you be joking around like this if it was Pepper in there?” Steve asked, devoid of any emotion and Tony just looked at him for a long time.

Before… before, this was something that Tony would have jumped on, like a shark scenting blood, the opportunity to push the other typically unshakable man closer to the edge. 

But not now. 

Things were different now, or at least they were supposed to be. And Steve, however much Tony hated to admit it, had a point.

“You got me there, Cap,” Tony admitted coolly, leaning back in his stool. His next words were very matter of fact, “If Pepper was in there and _you_ made a joke, I’d have probably killed you—or at least tried.” 

Steve said nothing for a long time and the two just stared at each other.

“Then I think we’ve reached an understanding.”

“Great,” Tony nodded, every muscle in his body tensed. “No more making light of this. You have my word.”

Steve stoically returned his gaze to the Soul Stone, like he couldn’t quite look away from it for too long, but he did mutter a quiet but terse ‘thank you’. Beyond the behemoth of a man, Bruce was giving Tony a mixture of an approving and nervous sort of nod from behind the screen he worked on. Tony wanted to roll his eyes (okay, he didn’t just _want_ to—he did). Sure, this was a step forward for the two of them, and Steve _really_ did have a point, but… deep down, he still wanted to poke the bear.

Did that make him an asshole? Probably.

But he also blamed the pent-up anger boiling just under the surface of his skin every time he looked remotely anywhere near Steve. Usually when Tony was angry with someone, he let them know in no uncertain terms. 

An awkward kind of silence settled over them, the kind that Tony remembered having a permanent residence in his house after one of the many times his father got angry. It’s one of the reasons why Tony always blared music loud enough that his hearing was probably going to be shit when he was an old man (but that’s what tech was for).

They had been in the labs since early that morning with Steve arriving a few hours later. Bruce had brought some eggs and toast with him when he arrived and softly encouraged Tony to eat. Tony knew he was still wobbly on his feet, but Bruce had hooked both him and the kid up to a plethora of IVs yesterday and this was the first moment since he arrived back on earth that he felt some small semblance of his old self. 

He still ate the damn food, even if it made his stomach churn a little bit as it tried to adjust to all the sudden richness.

“It needs a housing unit to harness and channel the energy,” Bruce murmured as he approached the two of them, breaking the silence that both men stubbornly refused to acknowledge. He crossed his arms and nibbled thoughtfully on the end of the pen he carried. “The Tesseract, the scepter, the gauntlet, the stones all had _something_ that allowed them to be used. Maybe to open the Soul Stone, we just need the right vessel.”

“I don’t think this one is going to work like that.” Steve glanced up when neither man responded, his brows lifting. “Loki said that it required an exchange—a life.”

As if summoned by the mention of his brother, an utterly exhausted Thor appeared in the doorway of the lab. The god’s shoulders were slumped, his eyes heavy, and it seemed as though every move he made took great effort. The others turned and took in his arrival with similar interest.

“Loki is resting,” Thor answered before anyone could ask the question.

“Thanks for babysitting, Point Break,” Tony nodded. His lips then twisted wryly as he turned back to Steve. “Regardless of what Loki said, a housing unit wouldn’t hurt. I gotta be honest, at this point, I’m not too keen on trusting a word that comes out of Loki’s mouth.”

“There was a time I would have heartily agreed, but after much discourse,” Thor paused, the words dragging out of his throat as though he couldn’t quiet believe them himself. “There is no deception in Loki—not about this.”

A beat of silence.

Steve shifted on his feet, his voice hardening. “Assuming what Loki told us is true then, what kind of exchange are we looking at here, Thor? Are we talking… a sacrifice?”

Thor merely shook his head and the glow of the Soul stone glimmered in is eyes as he looked down on it. There was a soft beeping from the screen Bruce had been previous working on and the scientist quietly walked over to it, leaving the others to continue. Tony watched him go, brows creasing slightly, until Thor’s voice made him snap back to himself.

“I am not sure. My brother and I spoke in depth, but not much of the stone. There were other important matters we needed to discuss. However, if we were to bring Loki out of his cell and consult with him,” Thor paused, noticing their doubtful looks. His resolve hardened. “He knows more of the stones than any of us. I have reason to believe he would help us.”

“What makes you so sure?” Tony’s mouth tightened.

Thor was quiet for a long time, something unnamable swirling in his eyes, and then—

“I learned long ago to trust my brother’s rage.”

“So, what you’re saying is that the driving force is his desire to stick it to Thanos.” Thor looked at Tony in surprise. The billionaire tilted his head, spinning slightly on the stool, his mind buzzing. “That’s what I am trying to say. Loki means it when he says he wants to see Thanos burn. But let’s not pin a medal on him—he’s not doing this out of the goodness of his heart or out of a sudden desire to help us. Because of that, I’m still going to be wary of anything he says due to his motives alone.”

“I’m with Tony on this,” Steve nodded, offering Thor an almost apologetic look. Tony, however, blinked at the Captain in no small amount of shock.

“You are?” He asked before he could stop himself and Steve gave him a flat, almost annoyed look. Tony lifted one brow. “Well, look at that, we agreed.”

“All this aside,” Bruce piped up, his voice sounding distracted as he finished reading whatever information he was getting off the screens. “This stone is putting off an exceptionally strong energy signal.” Bruce tapped a number with his fingertip, mouth tightening, “No wonder Thanos was able to track them all over the universe, this is like a calling card. Tony, is there a way we can block our location?”

“Already on it,” Tony quipped with an easy nod and hopped off his stool, pausing briefly as his head spun, his body screaming at him to take it easy. After a moment, he was good, ignoring the oddly concerned expressions of both Thor and Steve (that was weird to think about) to go look at the numbers Bruce had pulled up. 

Jamming the signal was one of the first things he did when they brought the stone in last night. He had modeled it after the _StingRay_ used by military intelligence, but instead of focusing on radio and cell signals, Tony specified it for the energy given off by the stones. It wasn’t perfect, given the strength of the stone alone, but it would scramble the signal for a while—at least to give them time to prepare for an attack.

“You look like you’re about to drop, Thor,” Steve was murmuring quietly, and Tony’s eyes flicked away from the screen, gaze sweeping over the god. Thor was swaying, like a giant redwood before it was felled.

“Go, catch some z’s,” Tony told him easily, masking the command in nonchalance. “The stone isn’t going anywhere right now.”

It didn’t take any more encouragement for Thor to go do just that. 

At least someone around here listened to him.

* * *

The knuckle brushing down her cheek tickled, like someone was teasing her skin with a feather. Darcy wanted to sneeze or tell them to stop but she was so deep in her sleep that she physically couldn’t force her body to respond. It was annoying, really, she was having a fucking fantastic dream after all and the two big, hot, sexy guys were just about to _do the do_ and Darcy really wanted to see that for herself. She wrapped herself tighter into the comforter, like a human burrito, and was all snuggly and warm and the world was perfect… as long as she kept her eyes closed and got back to that _dream_.

“Darcy.”

She frowned, face pinching in displeasure and eventually grunted out a response. A deep, throaty chuckle answered and a large hand brushed over the top of her head, mussing her hair.

“Why are you in my bed?”

Her mind identified the voice, though her eyes remained shut she tilted her face in the general direction of its origin and puffed out a slurred, grumpy, barely audible, “Steve put me in here.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Did he?” Thor asked, sounding more amused than usual. Darcy groaned feeling any traces of the sexy dream slip out of her grasp and most likely in less than a few seconds, out of her memory entirely. 

“He broke my room. I needed sleep. He said I had to go to bed, so here I am,” she cracked one eye open and glared fiercely at the god. “You better not snore.”

Thor’s eyes, though dimmed and weary, turned into two happy half-moons as he smiled down at her. “How dare you attack a son of Odin. I would never.”

“Lies.”

His laugh sounded like rain on a mountain and Darcy’s eyes slid shut again. Two thumps were heard next and she imagined Thor was taking off his boots, dropping them unceremoniously to the ground like most men were fond of doing for some reason. A minute later the bed dipped, and gravity forced her obnoxious burrito self to roll closer to the middle. With a swallow, she frowned confusedly, spying the bright sunlight fighting to get past the window blinds.

“What time is it?”

“I am not sure,” Thor sighed, all but groaning like a bear as he stretched out on top of the blankets. He slanted a look her way and grinned at whatever he saw before reaching out and patting her head, like she was a dog. “Return to your slumber, Darcy. You do not have to rise just yet.”

Her eyes immediately slid shut, obeying his command. “Wasn’t planning on it, Big Guy. The world can wait.”

For a long time, Thor said nothing and Darcy had very nearly completely returned back to sleep before she heard his gentle rumble.

“Aye, that it can. For now, we rest.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, Darcy felt like a new woman. Sure, she was in great need of a shower and a change of clothes, but physically, her body was rejoicing at the hours of sleep it had finally caught up on. 

One thing at a time.

Thor was still passed out cold on the bed when she left, quietly tip-toeing to the door, making sure it shut it the softest of clicks. The god surprisingly did not make a peep while sleeping and may or may not have nudged Darcy once or twice because _she_ was the one snoring (and if he ever brought it up, she would deny it until she was blue in the face). Cautiously, Darcy released her grip on the door handle and turned, glancing down the empty hallway. She caught the trail end of low murmurs and Darcy followed the sounds, curious… and secretly hoping one of those voices belonged to a certain blond Captain who owned a pair of lips she was becoming increasingly fond of.

Her curiosity led her around a corner and then Darcy froze, blinking in confusion.

Clint Barton was standing in front of her room with a toolbelt slug low around his waist. There was a pencil tucked behind his ear and his sleeves were rolled up his tanned, muscular forearms. Next to him, sitting in a plain chair and somehow making it look like it was a goddamn throne, Natasha watched him work with muted interest. Every now and then she offered up a stray nail to the archer when he silently held out his hand in request.

“It’ll be ready by tonight,” Clint grunted without turning his eyes away from his work and Darcy jerked.

It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her. Of course, both spies were aware she was watching them, they were scarily aware of _everything_. Her gaze flew to the new door leaning against the wall and the freshly cut wood along the frame. Something in Darcy softened and shifted, giving way.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, oddly touched. “You didn’t have to—”

Natasha didn’t say a word, but bright green eyes flashed up, and Darcy’s mouth clicked shut at the look the other woman gave her. The Black Widow stoically watched her for a moment, and then her lips twitched in something resembling a tiny smile. 

It actually… felt almost friendly.

 _Almost_.

“It keeps him busy,” Natasha explained with that same miniscule curve of her mouth, “and he since he doesn’t trust Tony’s tech to do the job…”

“Carpentry is work meant for _human_ hands, not goddamn _bots_ ,” Clint grouched, and Natasha sent the man a fond look despite his tone.

Inching closer to them, Darcy peeked at the progress. “Do you… do you need help?”

“Can you swing a hammer?”

“Like, at people when enraged?” Darcy asked and then shrugged. “Sure. But if you want me to be precise in my aim, then probably not.”

Clint stopped what he was doing and gave Darcy a very dubious look, the same look he gave Jane on the first day they met in Puente Antiguo—one that said he wasn’t quite sure if she was crazy or not but was definitely leaning towards crazy. She smiled brightly at him in return, all teeth. Behind him, Natasha leaned back in her chair and elegantly crossed her legs, eyeing Darcy in a way that made her want to shift on her feet. 

After a long moment, Clint finally snorted, going back to his work. “Yeah, that’s gonna be a no.”

“Well,” Darcy pursed her lips, feeling slightly awkward with the two super spies tackling the project of fixing her broken door while she did nothing to help. At the very least, it should be Steve here. He broke it, so he should fix it, she thought… preferably shirtless and sweaty and grunting but definitely rocking the carpenter look. Flushing bright red at the excruciatingly detailed image and sounds her brain produced, Darcy cleared her throat, all but squeaking out, “Let me know if you change your mind!”

With that, she spun on her heel and hurried out of earshot and away from the prying eyes of the Black Widow. Unthinkingly, her feet brought her to the Commons. Besides the roof, it was really the only other place that she knew in the Compound. 

Darcy was relieved to find it empty and quiet.

There was a small bunch of bananas on the counter and her stomach growled at the sight of them. She snagged one, peeling it swiftly and taking a bite. Her eyes drifted over the Commons as she tossed the peel in the garbage. There was a ginormous television with an array of stylish couches; a long black dining table, the kind that large families used around the holidays. The walls were all glass and cold steel and Darcy appreciated the open feeling it brought to the place and the view of the newly planted trees springing up just beyond in the courtyard. 

“I am Groot!”

She nearly choked on the last bite of banana as she whipped around at the excited shout. Groot rushed into the Commons holding up an absolutely _massive_ bright red bag of Skittles. He shook it vigorously with one hand while giving Darcy the sign for candy with the other.

Swallowing carefully, she grinned as the tree approached, moving like he had already ingested enough sugar to give him the jitters.

“Hey Groot! I missed you,” she told him brightly, and realized at the same moment that she meant it. The teenage tree was really growing on her. Groot’s big round eyes sparkled at her greeting and he shook the bag again, showing off his prize. “Score, can I have some?” Darcy asked with a smile, holding out her hand. When Groot hesitated, she brought it up to her chest, rubbing the palm flatly against it to remind him of the signs they had learned. “ _Please?_ ”

After much consideration, the tree finally tipped three of his precious Skittles into the palm of her hand with the air of a benevolent ruler bestowing a grand gift.

For himself, he lifted the bag up and poured directly into his open mouth, piling in a frightening amount of colorful candies. Darcy watched, torn between some odd maternal concern and amusement. The baby green leaves and delicate vines poking out of his arms and shoulders trembled as the sugar hit his system again. He watched her after that, big, soulful eyes flicking down to the uneaten Skittles in her open hand and then back up to her shocked face as though he was reconsidering his gift.

Darcy quickly popped them in her mouth. “Fanks, ‘root.”

“ _I_ am Groot,” he clutched the bag closely to his chest, like a child would with a beloved doll.

“That is a tree.”

Darcy flinched, head snapping up to see the Spiderkid that Thor had brought back with Stark standing in the doorway of the kitchen looking very much like he had just rolled out of bed. His hair was sticking up every which direction, reminding Darcy of a character out of Dragonball Z. She hadn’t seen much of the kid since he first arrived, but he had been in pretty rough physical shape. From what she could tell, he still seemed a bit unsteady on his feet, his cheeks were hollow, and his skin a frightening kind of pale, but there was a light in his eyes.

Eyes that were perfect circles as they stared unblinkingly at Groot (who was conveniently sitting at the counter, tucking his giant bag of Skittles out of sight from the newcomer). 

Grinning, she remembered having a similar reaction the first time she saw the sentient tree. Darcy shifted her candy in her mouth to one cheek, “More specifically, he is a Groot.”

“A what?” The Spiderkid asked after a long pause, tilting his head like a puppy. Her eyes drifted to his hair once more and she wondered if she should tell him or just let him figure it out on his own.

“Groot,” she answered with a shrug, as though it were obvious.

“Is…” the kid began, unsure and utterly confused, “is this one of those green guys?”

“Skrulls?” Darcy asked with a secret grin, enjoying teasing the teenager. Finally, she shook her head, her smile growing, stretching her full lips taunt. “Nope. Groot is one hundred percent… well, I don’t really know what he is, but he is definitely one hundred percent of it.”

“I am Groot,” the tree piped up, as if in agreement, and Darcy lifted her brows at the Spiderkid in a ‘ _See what I mean?_ ’ kind of manner.

“And I am Darcy, by the way,” she added feeling playful. It was amazing what a solid eighteen hours straight of sleep did for her mood. The poor Spiderkid though looked like he was ready to head back to bed himself. Taking pity on him, Darcy walked over and offered her hand. “Nice to meet you…?”

“Peter Parker,” the kid jerked, reaching out and shaking her hand. He eyed her for a moment, as if trying to figure out exactly who she was and quite possibly if she had any superpowers. “I’m Spiderman.”

“Ah,” Darcy nodded sagely. Spider _man_ , not Spiderkid. She’d have to work on that. “Well, I’m just Darcy. So… how does that work, the whole spider thing?”

Peter scratched at the side of his head, squinting in thought. A moment after his fingers touched his hair, he must have felt the wild bedhead he was sporting because both hands frantically flew up to his head, trying to smooth it out to no avail. Darcy grinned as she watched him.

“You’re fine,” her words were wrapped around a smile.

Peter, however, did not look reassured. He continued trying to smooth out his hair and simultaneously answer her question. “Uh, well, you see, I got bitten by a spider in a laboratory experiment and now my hands are sticky,” he started and then paused, eyes narrowing in thought, “not like, literally, but I can climb walls and I’ve got good reflexes.”

Darcy nodded in appreciation and Peter finally gave up on his unruly hair before adding in—

“And I guess I’m pretty strong.”

Behind Peter, coming down the hallway, a big, silent shadow appeared. Darcy’s eyes flickered above Peter’s head, instantly recognizing the silhouetted shape. Her heart skipped a beat when Steve drew closer, looking down at Peter with amusement. The teen stilled, noticing Darcy’s distraction and twisted to see what she was looking at.

Steve instantly schooled his expression and lifted a cool brow before walking further into the Commons, heading for the kitchen. 

“Queens,” he called out casually. “Good to see you.”

“Captain, Mr. America, _sir!_ ”

Darcy snickered at the way Steve stilled in his quest for coffee, tossing a side eye at the all-too-easily flustered Spiderkid( _man_ ). Steve said nothing and Darcy casually eyed him up at down, appreciating the fitted jeans and gray Henley he wore. He really was a pretty man.

“I am Groot,” the tree shouted to Steve, shaking his prized bag of candies.

Steve glanced over his shoulder and then sent Darcy a knowing look. Her heart may or may not have skipped a beat. “Fun aunt life is back, I take it?”

“Get with the program, Muscles. It never left,” she sniffed haughtily, and Steve’s eyes crinkled while he set up the coffee machine. It was much fancier than the simple pot they used at the safe house; this one was like a Keurig on steroids.

She watched the way his muscles rolled and nearly stretched through the fabric of his shirt as he reached up for a mug. Steve’s hands paused in the open cabinet and then, like hitting play on a movie, he grabbed not one but two mugs.

It felt stupid, but something between a mixture of delight and pleasure unfurled in Darcy’s stomach. Steve didn’t ask as he made her a cup and she was mildly impressed to see him add the perfect amount of cream to her coffee while keeping his strictly black. 

The man must have been paying attention.

When he was done brewing them, Steve brought her mug over and she took it, making sure to brush her fingers over his in a silent thank you. 

“You sleep alright?” Steve asked, his voice sounding low and gravely, so contrary to the way his gaze lit up under her brief touch. 

Darcy lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip. She licked the excess coffee off her upper lip and then grinned naughtily when she caught Steve’s hungry eyes following the movement. A second later, they flashed to hers and she read the desire in his eyes clear as day.

“Yup,” she answered slowly, like molasses, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

“Cap,” Clint called out from down the hall, his voice slicing through the heavy, warm fog that had settled around them, “we doing this or what?”

Steve’s tongue ran over his teeth and his eyes flashed with annoyance. Picking up his mug, he stared down at her and lowered his voice, and it was just for her.

“We’re having a training session right now but… I’ll see you later?”

“Mhm,” she shivered at the depth of his voice and tried to hide it. But it was clear the smug look in Steve’s gaze that he had seen her reaction. And it pleased him. Deeply.

As if he couldn’t stop himself, Steve reached out slowly and very gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. His fingers skimmed the curve of her ear and the surface of her jaw as he drew his hand back and it was like flames licking at her skin. Her eyes wanted to slid shut at the gentle touch, but she fought to keep her gaze open and on him.

When he smiled a second later, sudden and bright and so fucking big, she was glad she hadn’t missed it because _holy shit_.

Steve Rogers should _definitely_ smile more often.

He turned and left soon after and Darcy watched him go, skin practically buzzing, mind reeling at how the man could unravel her so quickly.

“I am _… Groot_.”

With a strangled gasp, Darcy’s eyes bulged, and she nearly dropped her mug. Somehow, she had all but forgotten about the two teenagers in the room watching her and Steve practically eye fuck each other. Her heart thudded against her chest and she turned around, slowly, unsurprised to see Peter purposefully staring off into the opposite side of the room (whistling to himself, no less) while Groot didn’t have those manners and simply gave her the equivalent of an eyebrow waggle.

She was not getting teased by a teenage sentient tree. 

No way in fucking hell.

“Shut up,” Darcy rolled her eyes, gulping down a scalding mouthful of coffee.

Peter turned around then, trying not to be obvious, but he was clearly embarrassed. He glanced at Groot and then back at Darcy. “What did Groot say?”

“I have no idea.”

* * *

The training session lasted longer than Darcy had originally imagined it would. But then again, she was basing all of this off her ability to be utterly exhausted after a thirty-minute YouTube workout. These were superheroes, not your average mid-twenties, fluffy personal assistant. 

Steve’s hint at wanting to meet up later hummed in Darcy’s mind, leaving her jittery with anticipation. She had waited for a while in the Commons, but when the sun settled behind the horizon of the shadowy trees and the sky rolled out a dark blue velvet carpet, Darcy decided she wasn’t waiting anymore. She wasn’t beholden to a man (no matter how great his ass was). 

She’d entertain herself… somehow.

There wasn’t much Darcy could do, and she wasn’t sure was allowed to go wandering out near the woods. Plus, she listened to way too many true crime podcasts and she knew better than to go for walks alone in the woods ( _stay out of the fucking forest, people_ ). So, instead, she gave in to the urge to explore the interior of the Compound. Much safer. Plus, if this was going to be her new home for the next foreseeable future, then she might as well get to know it.

The hallways were long, and the rooms were many, most of them empty. She passed by business conference rooms, offices, bedrooms, public bathrooms. At one end of the Compound, there was a large hangar—a fucking _hangar_ —that had been transformed into a training facility. Peeking inside, Darcy saw sparring mats and weights and all kinds of other equipment… but no Avengers.

Odd.

Frowning, she kept walking. 

The more she explored the Compound, the more it felt like there was almost a tug in her gut, like a string was attached to her and whoever was at the other end was pulling. She wasn’t concerned about getting lost… it just felt… right. Down another hallway, the scenery changed—instead of warm grays and browns, everything became a bright, sterilized white, almost blinding in its intensity. Instantly, Darcy knew from the familiar smells and sights that she had found her way to the labs.

Whether she had subconsciously sought it out or not, Darcy stilled her steps, lips flattening into a bittersweet smile. And then a pang of homesickness, of _grief_ , shot through her so strong that she nearly bent over, like someone had swung a sledgehammer into her stomach. 

_God, I miss Jane._

It was as if she could hear the tiny astrophysicists soft laugh flitting through the air down here, moving on the wings of a butterfly, and Darcy felt the tug sharp in her gut again. Her feet moved unintentionally, stumbling; there was a rushing in her ears. In a haze of memories, Darcy moved deeper into the place, stopping at a specific door. The room beyond was void of any other humans but the tug was strongest here and she followed it, walking past the microscopes, the telescopes, the buzzing little bots of Stark’s, and it was like she was coming home.

Her blood sang in triumph.

_Darcy?_

She shook because the room was empty but that was Jane’s voice, soft and distant, and calling for her and Darcy had thought she would never hear that sound again. Tears pricked behind her eyes because in her head, she knew Jane wasn’t there, and yet just being in the lab unearthed every visceral memory she had of Jane. 

Darcy had never been one for science, not in the biological nature, but surrounding herself so completely with Jane was—

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Like being doused in icy water, the voice was jarring and loud and Darcy jumped, snapping back to herself with a gasp. Her eyes flicked up, pupils blown wide, mouth falling open in a silent cry. Tony Stark stood in the doorway to the lab, dark eyes hard and assessing.

He was looking at her like she was an enemy.

Behind the billionaire, Steve approached quickly, his hair wet from a fresh shower but otherwise looking ready for a fight. When he saw Darcy, the Captain blinked and frowned in confusion, his tensed muscles loosening. 

“Darcy?”

Not knowing what to do and feeling like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, she merely grimaced and peeped out a very small sounding, “Hi.”

Stark bristled. “Who are you again?”

“She’s fine, Tony,” Steve told the other man. “This is Darcy.”

“Yeah, no. Not fine.”

“ _Tony_.”

Darcy’s pulse jumped in her throat and she desperately tried to find a reason as to why she was down here—in Stark’s personal space, because let’s face it, everyone knew he all but lived in the labs—but everything she had felt insufficient for the hostility Stark was showing her.

The billionaire’s mouth tightened, his voice narrowed in suspicion, “I’m just wondering how she got past the security check point to get down here.” He eyed her and then flat out glared, voice rising, pointing an accusing finger her way. “Would you step away from that?”

Shaking her head, lost and confused, her eyes darted down, looking for what he was talking ab—

_Oh shit._

Mere inches from her was the Soul Stone. It was in a special case, but the moment she looked at it, it was like the waters around her were swiftly rising over her head—the tug in her gut pulling her under, almost painful. Darcy swallowed and fought to stay above the surface. Blood was rushing in her ears, her heart thumping in her chest.

“I don’t…” she started, throat raw. Shaking her head, she tried again, louder, “I don’t know?” 

Even to her ears, her voice sounded strange. Hollow, distant, raspy where it was normally smooth. 

“She’s fine,” Steve reiterated, this time with no small amount of steel. He smoothly brushed past the billionaire, eyes flicking briefly over her as if to make sure she was alright, a private question clear in his gaze—one Darcy didn’t think she had an answer to. Darcy couldn’t even bring herself to nod, she was so shaken. As if realizing that, Steve glanced over his shoulder as he reached her, “I’m calling it for tonight, Tony, you know where to find me if—”

“Yeah,” Stark interrupted, still giving her an unhappy look. Then his gaze snapped to Steve, “Get out of my lab, Rogers.”

Darcy frowned, her hands shaking, breath still stuttering through her chest, but she was starting to understand why Jane called the man _You-Know-Who_.

Steve ushered her quickly out of the lab after that, his hand big and warm and insistent on her lower back. As they walked out, passing by a surly Stark, Darcy overheard the billionaire call out for his AI.

“FRIDAY, you got that? Fix it. I want to know anyone and everyone who comes and goes in these labs.”

“ _You got it, boss_.”

* * *

She let the strength in the hand on her back lead her out of the labs and into space where she could breathe again. Steve didn’t say a word at first. He clearly had a location in mind as he moved them swiftly through the winding hallways to a more private room. Darcy didn’t think to ask about where they were going, her head was spinning, and she was still trying to figure out what the hell went wrong and how it all happened so quickly.

Steve opened a door and ushered her inside some abandoned office, closing it softly behind him and Darcy basked in the small moment of silence.

A soft touch on her arm caught Darcy’s attention and she swallowed heavily, panting… though she hadn’t done any kind of physical activity. Steve was at her side, looking down at her in his soft, worried way. His voice was a whisper, “Are you okay? What happened down there?”

“I was just…” Darcy looked down at her feet, brows pulling together and lifting in the middle, “exploring? I got lost—I swear, I didn’t even know where I was or that it wasn’t okay. I didn’t mean to overstep, it just all… the labs reminded me of Jane,” she croaked at last. Her eyes darted up to Steve’s with unshed tears, “And I miss her _so much_.”

Her voice cracked and Darcy stopped talking, just shaking her head because it was true. It felt like Jane was with her down there, for the briefest of moments. She heard her laugh; she felt her smile. 

It was _real_.

Steve’s expression softened further and he gently pulled her into a hug. She didn’t fight it, feeling small and vulnerable and not quite ready to face the rest of the world. Her arms wrapped around his trim waist and she pressed her face into his chest, trying to breathe deep and calm herself. His cologne smelled good. And it was nice to be held after everything.

“You don’t have to explain anything else,” Steve said, and she felt his chest vibrate with the words. “Tony’s just—Tony. Don’t worry about him.”

Despite the warm, filling lump in her throat, Darcy scoffed.

“That’s what everyone said about Voldemort,” her voice was muffled in the material of his shirt and she pressed herself closer, wanting to hide in the strength Steve offered. Steve was all too pleased to let her burrow in. He lifted a hand to cradle the back of her head and neck, the other gliding up and down the length of her back in soothing strokes. 

“No it’s not and since when did Tony become the Dark Lord?” He asked her with a fond tone.

“Oh my god,” she leaned her head back, resting her chin on his chest as she looked up at his face in shock, “you’ve read _Harry Potter_?”

Steve stared down at her affectionately through his lashes, amusement in every line and curve of his expression. One dark brow lifted, “Tony’s the one that made me watch the movies.”

“Huh. Well…” Darcy tucked her chin back down into Steve’s warmth muttering, “They’re nowhere near as good as the books… and that’s exactly what Voldemort would do, by the way.”

Steve laughed lowly then and it _did_ things to her. 

“You wanna go up on the roof and get some fresh air?” 

Darcy bit her lip, feeling oddly flirtatious at his request. “Is that code for sneaking off to go suck face?”

Steve’s hand which had been steadily moving on her back stilled and then his whole body began to shake in silent laughter. He squeezed her tighter into the hug. A second later, he answered, voice dripping with mirth—

“Not initially my intention, but I also wouldn’t say no.”

* * *

The cicada sang a soft song in the long grass, trilling a nightly serenade to the crescent moon. It was a bare sliver of a thumbnail hanging in the sky, glittering stars flung out around it without a cloud in sight. Darcy had never appreciated the beauty of the night sky until Jane. It was hard not to love the stars once you spent any amount of time with the astrophysicist; Jane saw them beyond the veil of this world and in ways that Darcy didn’t understand… but she wanted to. Before, Darcy had thought stars were merely pretty and the moon was only particularly nice if it was a big, yellow harvest moon, but now? Now it was as if stardust filled her soul and the moon pulled at her hair, calling her home. 

Cool spring air swirled up over the deck of the Compound roof and Darcy leaned comfortably back against Steve in silence, her arms resting over his as they wrapped around her waist. 

As soon as they got up on the roof, Steve had found a spot that he declared was prime stargazing territory and plopped down on the ground, tugging her to sit between his legs soon after. His body wrapped around her and Darcy had never considered herself a small girl, she was short and curvy and always carried a bit extra; however, with Steve, she was suddenly aware of just how small she was in comparison to his bulk. When he held her like this, something almost primal in her sighed in secret pleasure at the feeling of being so utterly _surrounded_ by him. 

“Where’s the Bucky Star tonight?” Warm breath fanned over her ear and Darcy curled her toes in her sandals.

“Right where it always is, bottom right corner to the moon.” She tilted her head to the side and pointed with a squint. The star in question flared, almost sparkling, as though it was aware of the attention. Darcy smiled at it sweetly and brought her hand back down to Steve’s, intertwining their fingers. She felt his chest expand slowly with a deep inhale.

When he spoke, his voice was very quiet.

“I miss him. You would think that I would get used to losing him after all this time, but… it never gets easier.”

Darcy’s fingers tightened around his gently. She searched for anything to say that might help, but after her own experience with grieving Jane today, she came up with only a soft, “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

Steve didn’t answer for a long time and Darcy went back to staring at the stars. While she might not have the right words to say or even the most eloquent, she could at least sit with him in the grief and have some small form of understanding, if not companionship. It might not be much, but it was all she had to offer and she was going to give it. 

Gradually her hands slid out from his and her fingers, as if they had minds of their own, began tracing the lines of his forearms, fingertips tickling under the fine hair along his skin. She felt the veins and corded muscle back down to the bones in his hands which were still holding her securely around the waist. 

“He would’ve liked you, you know.”

Darcy’s hands stilled. “Bucky?”

“Mhm,” she felt Steve nod. And then he laughed, a single note bursting from his chest, “He probably would have annoyed the hell out of you, too.”

Her lips wanted to tug up in a grin but there was something in Steve’s voice that gave Darcy pause. A twisting sort of thorn in the center of her heart that pricked and pricked the surface, releasing her fears and worries from their cages like tendrils of smoke. Her throat tightened.

All she could get out through the thick of it was a soft, “Steve?” 

“Yeah?”

She inhaled, “I’m not Bucky. You understand, right?”

A pause, and then, “I know that.”

Darcy twisted suddenly, leaning back to look up at the man, abruptly and deeply afraid that all of this was somehow some big screw up. “ _Do_ you?”

Steve met her gaze, his eyes darting between both of hers and she tried to stop her fingernails from digging any further into his forearms than they already had. With purpose, she forced her fingers to loosen their grip and go flat against his skin.

“I do,” he told her, looking and sounding far calmer and more confident than Darcy currently felt. 

As if reading her doubt, he continued, his words firm but honest. “I’m not misplacing my grief, Darcy. I’ve told you before that I want you and that’s still true. I don’t pretend to understand why things happen the way that they do, but we’re here now—you and I. Yes, I grieve for Bucky every day and I miss him all the goddamn time. But,” Steve stopped and wet his lips, his voice dropping low, “is it so hard to believe that I could want you as well? That maybe, there’s something for us here, too?”

She thought about it, heart sprinting, and then awkwardly lifted one shoulder to her ear in a shrug. Her lips twisted, voice soft and vulnerable as she admitted with a pained squint, “A little bit.”

Steve just looked at her for an impossibly long time, his eyes churning like the current of a stormy sea before his gaze dropped to her lips. His hand left it’s place around her waist to cup her jaw in the barest of brushes—he used no real strength to hold her there and yet it was inescapable all the same. 

“Let me prove it to you then.” 

Those words weren’t just a promise; they were a vow.

Darcy knew the kiss was coming, tried to prepare herself, but when he slanted his mouth over hers, she was just as lost as the first time on the roof; utterly helpless. He tilted her head slightly to the side, hand threading through her hair as he expertly deepened the kiss and Darcy’s body all but disconnected from her thoughts.

 _Fucking hell_ , Steve knew how to kiss.

His tongue slid in and out of her mouth sensually and like a bomb had detonated inside of her, before she knew what she was doing, Darcy was twisting in his lap until she was sitting up on one of his muscular thighs. She surged towards him, her hands brushing over the coarse whiskers along his jaw, trailing down his neck to the curve of his strong shoulder. It was tense beneath her hand and he was nearly crushing her with the strength of his grip. It hurt, just a little, but Darcy found that she really fucking liked that he didn’t treat her like she was breakable (even if she was, even if her heart was). Shoving that thought aside, her nails dug into the muscle there. 

She was rewarded with a low, gravely moan and fuck if that wasn’t one of the sexiest things she had ever heard.

Her nails dragged down his shoulder blade and Steve grunted and pulled away. Darcy gasped, an apology on her lips, but she never got to say it because there was a hard tug on her long hair—she hadn’t even realized that at some point he had taken a handful of it, wrapping it around his fist—and Steve tilted her head back so he could have access to the length of her throat. 

The noise that leapt out of her mouth was embarrassing and desperate and Steve was holding her with one hand gripping her hair and the other wrapping around her ribs, right under her breast.

“Too much?” He breathed against the skin of her throat and Darcy’s chest heaved, unable to answer in any other way than to bare more of her neck to his mouth. She felt him smile, heard the smile in the way he breathily laughed.

Steve’s kisses slowed into hot, wet, open mouthed things, sucking at different spots under her jaw, down her neck, behind her ear. All of it had Darcy arching her back, breath rushing from her lungs. It shot straight down to her core causing her breasts to tingle and her nipples to erect. His other hand was sliding up and down her side, counting her ribs, and she was openly gasping. 

She felt his tongue dip into the hollow of her throat, laving at the skin there, tasting it, before his teeth came out and he nipped lightly. 

And then Steve was lifting her, like she weighed nothing, and turning her bodily in his lap, so she was facing outwards, leaning with her back against his chest once more, caged between his legs. Darcy came back to herself slightly, dizzy and panting like she had just stepped off a rollercoaster. 

Her brows pinching in confusion. “Steve, what—”

“May I touch you?” 

_Oh, fuck._

The question ghosted over her skin and it was like her brain short circuited, wires misfiring, shooting sparks under her skin until she caught _fire_. Heat erupted under her skin and it took Darcy a solid minute until she could bring herself to nod jerkily. His lips wrapped around her earlobe next and his teeth tugged on it. Darcy moaned low in her throat. Steve’s voice was in her ear, soft and dangerous. “Sweetheart, I’m going to need to hear it from you verbally.”

Swallowing hard, the word worked its way up out of her chest and through her throat with a dry, needy rasp.

“ _Please_.”

For a near eternity, Steve did nothing. He didn’t move, he didn’t breathe, and then—

“So polite,” Steve praised gently and though the words were proper, they sounded utterly filthy coming out of his mouth. 

His hands slipped under her shirt and she jerked slightly in his arms at the sudden skin on skin contact. Steve nosed her head to the side and he kissed a spot behind her ear. Calloused hands trailed firmly up the soft skin of her torso until they cupped both of her breasts, holding their significant weight in his hands, squeezing them teasingly.

“Oh my god,” Darcy’s head fell back against his shoulder, her eyes squeezing shut. She blindly reached up and behind her, fisting handfuls of his silky hair, desperate to hold onto something of him. Sighs turned into soft mewls as his thumbs found her nipples and stroked them through the material of her bra until she was squirming in his lap. 

There was something about the fact that he hadn’t taken her shirt off but left her clothed, his hands up her shirt, lips sucking and biting at the sensitive skin of her throat that set her off, driving her utterly wild.

She wanted more, god she wanted so much more. Whether it was weeks of stress and fear and running for her life or just Steve himself, Darcy didn’t know—but she knew what she wanted and she knew she wanted it _right fucking now_. Her body was buzzing, she trembled as her chest heaved, pressing her breasts more firmly into his hold with each breath. 

Steve was not exactly gentle, and she loved that about him because it felt so fucking good. She wanted to be touched hard, to be held firmly, to be kissed without questioning whether he was into it or not. It was tethering her in place, grounding her in a way that she hadn’t been since all of this shit exploded. 

Darcy didn’t think twice before taking one of Steve’s hand from her breasts, dragging it down to the button on her shorts. 

He went utterly still. “You sure?”

Darcy wanted to laugh. She had been the one to bring his hand there, of course he fucking could. She felt a little crazed and a lot desperate and this wasn’t enough. 

“You asked if you could touch me and I said yes,” her words were breathy things, fluttering out of her mouth like her heart was fluttering inside of her chest. “So… yes, I’m sure.”

There was a long moment of silence and then—

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

The instant the words left his mouth and registered in her brain, Darcy could practically feel her pupils dilate as she melted on the inside, the runoff pooling directly between her legs instantly, warm and heavy. 

Her one hand tightened its grip on his hair and Darcy’s eyes remained shut in ecstasy as her knees bent and her thighs fell open. The button popped open with a simple twist of his fingers. Steve’s other hand released her breast and skimmed over her chest up to her throat, wrapping around it in a way that he could direct her face where he wanted it.

His touch became firmer and soon Darcy had no choice but to turn where he wanted her and right now, Steve wanted her mouth. The zipper on her shorts inched its way down, almost tauntingly, and Steve hovered right over her lips, not quite kissing her.

“Tell me what you like?” He rasped out, hand slipping in her shorts and over the thin covering of the lacy pink thong she wore, and he just cupped her, waiting. “Darcy?”

“Mm. In case you haven’t noticed, I…” Steve fingers pet lightly over the damp slit and her voice hiccupped in her throat. “I’m not one for talk- _ing_ during… this sort of… _thing_.”

His fingers moved again and distantly she thought she should be embarrassed by how utterly wet she was, but Steve didn’t seem to mind in the least, given the swiftly hardening cock she felt against her back. She writhed back against him, grinning slightly when he groaned softly in response. He kept his grip on her throat and jaw and swooped down to touch his lips to hers in a hard kiss.

Pulling away with a wet smack, Steve grinned, and it was absolutely wicked. “Yeah? Having a hard time finding words?” 

Darcy’s somehow still managed to glare through her lust haze at his obvious enjoyment of unraveling her. 

“You tell me if I do something you don’t like though,” Steve was saying as his fingers began a slow rub over her panties. “Just use the color system.”

“Mhm.”

“So where are we right now?”

“Green,” Darcy moaned, her legs falling open a bit wider as his touch on her turned firm. “ _So fucking green_.”

With that, Steve’s hand skimmed up the top of the lace material and slipped under it and Darcy nearly arched completely off of him and would have if it weren’t for the grip he had on her throat and the way his arm wrapped around her, holding her in his lap. His fingers stroked her, exploring the nest of creamy warmth. It didn’t take him long to find the little pearl and stroke an exacting finger over it.

Darcy rewarded him with a low, sultry moan.

He bent and swallowed it down in a searing kiss as his fingers increased the pace and pressure until it was almost unbearable.

When Steve slipped a finger inside of her, Darcy arched again with open-mouthed pants. She might have even ripped out some of his hair, she wasn’t sure and frankly, she didn’t care when he was doing _that_ to her.

And then a thought struck her, like a bolt of lightning, as she felt his finger moving slowly inside, “Steve.”

The immediacy with which he stopped impressed her, but it might have something to do with the panic in her voice. 

“You okay?” He asked, concern shining through his lust fogged gaze. She stared up at him, so fucking vulnerable, trembling and shaking and on the edge of falling over a cliff there was no climbing back out of.

“What if someone comes up here?” She asked, her voice suddenly very small and feeling very stupid for asking.

But Darcy realized she had so completely put her trust in this man, had been so overwhelmed by him, she hadn’t even realized what they were doing and where. Steve swallowed heavily and she noticed for the first time the tremble in his arms, the way his breath shook, and it was a intoxicating thing to think that she had this kind of power over a man like Steve Rogers.

“I’ll hear them before they make it out the door,” Steve assured her and Darcy considered his promise. She paused long enough for Steve to pull his hand away from the place she wanted him most. 

“What color are we at, Darcy?” He asked, brows pulling tightly together, his eyes shining with something akin to devotion. The hand around her throat softened and slid up to cradle the side of her face where his thumb gently swept over her cheek. “If you want to stop, it’s okay. Trust me, it’s okay.” 

Her heart thudded in her chest and she believed him. If she told him no, right then and there, he would be okay with it.

The problem was, Darcy wouldn’t.

Every nerve ending in her body was screaming in agony and she had been so fucking close, rising dangerously high on that cliff, teetering on the edge, that stopping now felt cruel. Her pulse was jumping in her throat, eyes half mast, and Darcy finally nodded, words escaping her as she tugged on his hair in a silent ask for a kiss.

Steve was more than happy to oblige… but he didn’t touch her again.

Pulling away with a whine, Darcy writhed back against him. “Please,” she begged, not even caring if this was the kind of pathetic sounding creature she had been turned into.

There was a long moment of quiet, the only sound was her breaths as her chest heaved up and down in desperation, and then Steve leaned ever so close to her ear, whispering out—

“Please _what?_ ”

She froze, but like ice cream on a hot summer day, a second later she began to melt into a creamy, sticky mess.

_Oh god, he’s going to be the death of me._

“Please touch me, you _asshole_ ,” Darcy bit out, eyes flying open with a flare of frustrated need.

Steve just watched her with all the male satisfaction in the world, like this was exactly where he wanted her and how he wanted her and Darcy didn’t know what to think about how much she was enjoying this side of Steven Grant Rogers.

Like the slow drip of sap on a tree, he bent closer, guiding her lips to his in a slow, sensual kiss and when he pulled away, his next words were the last thing she heard before her world utterly dissolved.

“Hold onto me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. Ahem. Well. I’m blushing, are you blushing? Dear god. Erm. So. I promise this is… still… a slow… burn? Is it? IDK.  
> Next chapter is the last one for the first arc of Ignition. So, enjoy that closing of this first opening arc and prepare for the next level. Like fuckin’ Jumanji.
> 
> Don't forget to come to my [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) and say hi!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge and immeasurable thank you to each of you, readers and friends, for giving this story an ounce of your time. I appreciate the chance to geek out with all of you over our favorite OT3. With that… we come to the end of the first arc of Ignition. This chapter is a beast.

“… Are you alive?”

“Shut up.”

Steve’s rich laughter seeped into her skin like warm honey settling somewhere deep in her belly. If she were not in the softest, most pliable post-orgasmic haze, Darcy would have smacked the man. As it were, she didn’t think she even had the ability to lift her arm, much less put any considerable force behind it. 

The feverish heat that had scorched her skin moments earlier began to fade as the cool night breeze wafted over the deck in small gusts carrying the thick scent of pine and earth and life from the forest just beyond. Darcy let it fill her lungs to capacity as her heartrate gradually slowed. Steve was warm and solid at her back and she wasn’t cold, didn’t think it would be possible to ever feel cold with Steve so utterly wrapped around her like he was. He had all but plastered himself to her every curve and line.

Apparently big, tough, no-nonsense Captain America was a bit of a snuggler. Who knew?

Eyes closed, Darcy hummed and smiled at that thought, content to let him use her like a human teddy bear as much as he damn well pleased. He had very successfully turned her brain to mush after all, but it was even more than that. Darcy was… she was _happy_. Which was a rare gift these days. And she was happy _because_ of Steve. Over the last few weeks, the man had somehow found a way around all the walls, all the defenses, every stone barrier of self-protection she had erected over the years. He moved with ease through the debris filled and quite possibly booby-trapped path directly to her heart. 

Darcy didn’t even know how he did it or if he was aware of what he held in his hands—that it went beyond breathy sighs and throaty moans for her. She wondered if she should tell him, even if just to ask him to be careful, to _please_ be careful with her.

It was hard to find words though for something that Darcy hadn’t even allowed herself to think.

He nosed along her hair, coarse whiskers tangling strands of it, tickling her scalp. Finally, Steve lay his cheek flat against the top of her head and simply held her. Neither of them said a word for a few minutes and simply breathed together.

If Darcy wasn’t careful, she could probably fall asleep like this.

Trying to avoid doing just that, she shifted in his hold. Despite the loopy haze she was in, her ears still caught the soft, strangled grunt from Steve and she froze. Frowning, Darcy gently shifted again.

“ _Stop that_.” Two large hands abruptly landed on her hips, gripping them in such a way that she was forced to stay put. 

That’s when it became achingly clear against the small of her back that Steve was still in _quite_ the predicament.

Suddenly, Darcy was much more alert.

“Hey,” she started, turning her head slightly. Clumsily pushing his hands away, she gracelessly rose to her knees, turning to face him, not bothering to button up her shorts yet. When their eyes met, his burned hungrily into her own and she wondered, briefly, what it was like to live each and every moment with a constantly burning _fire_ like the one she saw in Steve’s eyes now.

_Be cautious with the Captain, Darcy. On Asgard, we would call him Fireborn._

Careful. Darcy slowly inhaled. It was a little too late for being careful. Teeth digging into her full bottom lip, because she made this choice when she gave him the green light, Darcy loosely gestured to his pants.

“Do you… Can I—?” 

The words trailed off her tongue, lost to the wind, but the implication remained, and it settled between them with a heavy weight. It was not her sexiest moment by far, in fact, it was probably up there with one of her least, but Darcy was eager and willing and sincere. 

After a pregnant pause, Steve’s eyes gentled in a way that threw open the cage door to the butterflies residing in her belly. Their wings brushed against her ribcage with frantic flutters and she swallowed audibly, lips parting with a quiet exhale. 

“Thank you, but I’m good,” he told her with a shake of his head and a smile that was so damn soft.

_Uh… what?_

Darcy Lewis had not been born with a good poker face and it was never truer than in this moment. Leaning back from him slightly, a dark brow lifted, and she very clearly dragged her gaze down the front of him in disbelief. Her head tilted at the sight of the rather large, painful looking bulge and she snorted with a knowing grin. “Yeah, _bullshit_ you’re good, Muscles.”

A finger tucked under her chin, lifting her face and bringing her eyes back up to his.

“I’ll be fine,” Steve assured her with a lift of his brows, his voice taking on that extra gravely tone that curled her toes. “This was about you anyway.”

He held her chin, knuckle tucking under it, and his bright eyes followed the path his thumb took as it brushed over her bottom lip. Boldly, Darcy closed her lips around the tip of his thumb and swiftly swirled her tongue around it.

Steve’s eyes flashed to hers and it was like lightning struck.

Releasing his thumb, Darcy inhaled, “We’ve _had_ this conversation before, Steve, just in a different context but my point stands. You don’t have to be the self-sacrificing hero all the time. As you can see, I’m more than willing.”

The unimpressed look Steve sent her that moment was magnificent, and he dropped his hand back to his side. She held her ground.

“I know that,” Steve said flatly. “But I had a point to prove.”

She just stared at him and Steve got that stubborn set to his jaw, the one that was made from stone, the one that told her she wasn’t going to get what she wanted—not without a hell of a fight. Which didn’t sit right with her. At all. Darcy shifted on her knees with a frown.

“Okay,” the word rolled out of her mouth slowly. Her fingers drummed a quick pattern on her thigh as frustration bled into her tone. “Well, that’s great and all. You proved your point, believe me, I feel _fantastic_. But this whole self-denial thing you’re doing right now, Steve, kind of makes me feel like you don’t even want me to _touch_ you—” 

It happened quickly then.

Without warning, Steve leaned forward and snatched her wrist, bringing her hand to his cock. It caught her so off guard that her mouth fell open and she looked up at him, eyes going wide. 

“Oh.”

The instant the word left her mouth Steve’s face lit up in teasing delight. His brows lifted, lips unfurling in a slow growing, sinful smile. Darcy knew what he was going to say before he said it and she was already rolling her eyes, despite the fact that he was still holding her hand over his hard cock. 

“ _Oh_.”

It was like a script between the two of them now. 

She might expect his response by now but what she would never get used to was the way the word dripped from Steve’s mouth, sliding down each vertebrae of her spine like syrup until everything tingled. 

And she meant _everything_. 

Regaining control of herself a moment later, Darcy closed her mouth with an audible _click_ and glanced down to their hands, remembering suddenly what was just under her palm. Even through his jeans she could feel the heat pulsating from the aching length. Wetting her lips, she very carefully rubbed the side of her index finger along the edge of his cock.

Immediately Steve was releasing her, purposefully placing her hand back on her thigh. “There,” his voice was very matter of fact. “You touched me.”

“Um, for like three seconds, Muscles.” Darcy stayed frozen, disbelief coloring her voice. “That doesn’t really count.”

“This isn’t about repaying me, Darcy.”

 _Ouch_. That stung.

“It’s not—it’s not repayment,” she argued softly with a shake of her head.

“Then what is it?” 

Darcy’s eyes lowered and she fell quiet for a long time, thinking. The man had just had his hand down her shorts, had whispered divinely filthy things into her ear until she nearly pulled out his hair in the best orgasm of her life. It would be easy to say that she wanted to unravel him as he had done to her, but it was also more than that. 

Somehow, somewhere along the way _Steve_ had become more than that. 

And she didn’t know how to tell him.

There were words Darcy wanted to say but wasn’t ready to say (was afraid of saying) and so she didn’t. Instead, she settled for lifting her shoulders in an awkward shrug, letting out a small sounding, “I just want to make you feel good.” She squinted at him, feeling oddly exposed and vulnerable. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Not at all, sweetheart,” Steve told her with a gentle upturn of his lips, his eyes searching her face. He ducked down a little to make sure he held her gaze as he spoke next. “But here’s what I want you to understand: I _do_ feel good, Darcy,” Steve paused here and smirked, “ _Very_ good in fact.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she mumbled, and a gust of wind hit her like an icy brick wall. A gasp tore from her lips and goosebumps erupted along her arms and legs.

Before she could blink Steve was shrugging off his jacket and placing it over her shoulders. It was huge and already unnaturally warm from his body heat and nearly swallowed her whole. Steve took his time making sure it was tucked securely around her and Darcy let him, slightly amused by his fussing, reminding her of a very aggressive mother hen. When he was done, he didn’t move back to his spot, hands still gripping the lapels of his jacket in a firm hold, keeping her inches from his face. Steve’s gaze roved over her with no small measure of heat and it made her body hum. 

A few beats of silence and then—

“I’ve never had to try to talk a guy into letting me touch his dick before, you know,” Darcy said suddenly, keeping her voice nonchalant. “Most are pretty on board with that.”

Steve hummed low in his throat and slowly released her, as though part of him didn’t actually want to.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” he told her in a voice like dark chocolate. “I’m not most men.”

Darcy’s eyes darted up to his. “True. Very true.”

Sinking back on her heels, she took the moment to discreetly button and rezip her shorts. She felt Steve’s eyes on her as she did and flicked her gaze up catching him watching her motions with a quiet sort of intensity. Darcy couldn’t help the naughty grin that graced her lips next as she held his gaze and purposefully rubbed her hands down the front of her slightly spread thighs when she was done. 

His pulse jumped in his throat.

“Careful, Darcy,” Steve warned lightly, his voice calm and soft and his eyes anything but.

A flush rose on her cheeks, it dripped down her neck to her chest until it pooled in her core at his words, the sheer promise there, and part of her wanted to push, to press, and see what would come of it. 

“Do you know why I said no tonight?” He asked in a low rumble and she felt that question in her toes. He lifted his hand and oh so slowly crooked a finger and it shot straight through her like lightning. The look in Steve’s eyes was heavy and unnamable. It set Darcy’s heart to double the rate. She could hear it pounding against her ribcage and her skin tingled with anticipation.

Carefully, she scooted closer, his jacket dragging against the floor. Her mind was hazy and she could feel arousal coursing through her. Steve didn’t move a muscle, just stared up at her hotly, calling her closer with his eyes alone, drinking her in as her hands went to his wide shoulders and she maneuvered herself boldly into his lap. He didn’t touch her until she straddled him, knees on either side of his hips, arms sliding around his neck, and then he moved very quickly.

His hands were gripping beneath her thighs, hoisting her up against him. Darcy grunted in surprise. When Steve repositioned her, her breath hitched at the feeling of him, warm and powerful between her legs.

Steve smiled up at her, all sweet and soft and innocent as a lamb while his hands slid slowly up her thighs to her ass, taking two handfuls of it and giving it a rough squeeze.

“I said no because I think you need to learn how to receive,” Steve told her huskily, “how to _take_.” And then he rolled his hips up into hers hard and Darcy fought to stay still but couldn’t stop the soft whine that escaped her mouth. Steve watched her, like this was exactly what he expected, a grin slowly growing on his lips. “And I’m feeling generous tonight. You know why?”

“Why?” Her mouth whispered of its own accord.

With luxurious slowness, Steve leaned forward until their faces were only inches apart. His voice dropped like he was telling her a secret. “I like watching you _squirm_.”

This time, Darcy kissed him.

She couldn’t help it, not when he was talking to her like that, not when he felt this good, and fuck if she wasn’t going to get some goddamn payback for this. But kissing Steve was like subjecting herself to a bone-melting heat. It didn’t seem to matter if she started the kiss or not, Steve somehow always found a way to deepen it the way he wanted. 

A big hand skimmed up from her ass, under the jacket and over her back to thread through her hair and this time she was aware of his moves, knew he was about to get a handful of her long locks, and she was ready for it. Darcy moaned, rolling herself against him once, twice, a third time. And then she bit his lower lip.

 _Hard_.

The result was almost instantaneous. Steve’s hips jerked and bucked up into hers seemingly without his permission, a rough sounding groan tearing its way out of his throat, straight into Darcy’s mouth.

She nipped at his lips again, this time more playful. When Darcy pulled away, she watched him chase after her mouth for more. She kept out of his reach, hovering slightly above him in her position with a deeply satisfied smile and she wondered, for a moment, if this is what it felt like to be a god. The power was a heady thing. Steve’s hair was mussed, his lips swollen, and he stared up at her, eyes like deep, dark oceans, and her core heated almost embarrassingly from the look he gave her alone. 

Like he could eat her _alive_.

The smell of him surrounded her and his body was warm where he was pressed against her. Very slowly, Darcy leaned down, bending her neck until they were close enough to share the same breath.

“What was that about squirming, Steve?” She whispered, her eyes flickering between both of his.

Steve’s eyes darkened and his hands where he gripped her tightened and she just grinned at him, wide and triumphant. He was so close that she could feel his heart sprinting in his chest and Darcy knew in that instant that she had him.

The man watched her like he couldn’t quite believe the words that came out of her mouth. Like he was delighted and at the same time like he had found a challenging new game. All of which had a very small part of Darcy’s brain wondering what in the hell she had just gotten herself into.

Without warning, Steve’s hand wrapped around the back of her neck and tugged her mouth down to his for a hard kiss. It was a short thing, nothing more than a peck, but Darcy’s hands planted themselves flat against his firm chest for balance.

Steve pulled back with a grin that was a touch wild at the edges. And then he began to laugh, almost silently, and bodily moved her off his lap. “That’s enough of _that_.”

Darcy panted, trying to calm herself down. The concrete was cold in comparison to him and she was grateful for it as it seeped into her skin because it shook her enough out of the haze of lust that she was able to think clearly. 

“God, just when I think I have you figured out,” Steve was saying, his words wrapped around a warm laugh.

Her gaze snapped up to his and Steve’s eyes were alight and sparkling and he was looking at her with an emotion that Darcy didn’t think she would be able to name without blushing scarlet. Something warm and soft bloomed in Darcy’s stomach; a small smile graced her lips in response.

She tucked her knees into her chest and hugged them. Her nose wrinkled as she gave him a funny smile. “I’m no Black Widow, there isn’t a mysterious bone in my body.”

“No, you aren’t,” Steve admitted, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a grin, “but you still manage to keep me on my toes. You have since day one.”

“A while back you told me that you liked that.”

She remembered the first time they had flirted, back in the house in Boston. It seemed like so long ago and she had been so unsure. From the recognition flitting across Steve’s face, she could tell that he was remembering it, too. 

He dipped his head in a slow nod. “I do.”

Darcy smiled, something very soft creeping in her chest and weaving its way through her words. “Yeah, well, I kinda like you, too.”

“Kinda?” 

The question was asked in nothing short of a boyish hope and Darcy pressed her lips together feeling shy despite what they had been doing moments before.

“Well,” she cleared her throat and then bit her lip in a teasing grin, “the muscles _do_ help, and you are _very_ pretty… but…” she paused here, her voice dropping off, the silly smile falling from her lips into something much gentler. “You’ve also got this incredible heart, Steve. One that I hope to get to know better.”

Steve’s gaze darted off to the side, his hand lifting to grab at the back of his neck, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to such open praise. 

It was adorable.

“Aw,” Darcy cooed in a teasing tone. “You getting bashful on me, Muscles?”

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” Steve chuckled but Darcy caught the way the tips of his ears reddened, and she knew he was lying through his teeth.

Another sudden gust of wind hit and Darcy jumped as it stole her breath. Steve eyed her, seemingly unbothered by the nippy air even though he had given up his jacket. A second later, he opened his arms in invitation. 

He didn’t have to ask twice. 

Darcy inelegantly clamored into his lap (she might have accidentally made him grunt in pain once or twice with an awkward elbow and apologized profusely, but Steve didn’t seem to mind). Eventually they settled and strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her as close as humanly possible, and his hum was a deep, contented thing. Her head tucked under his chin and all was right in the world.

Well, almost everything was right. There was still a lot wrong, a lot that needed to be fixed, but for this moment, Darcy could finally breathe. Above them, the stars twinkled in the velvety night sky.

One shone brighter than the rest.

* * *

The walk back to her room was a slow amble and Steve who normally didn’t have time to lounge about, who liked things done quickly efficiently, found that he didn’t mind the slow pace in the least. Not when her hand felt so small and delicate in his, or when she all but disappeared in his jacket. Both of which appealed deeply to him.

“Heading to Thor’s tonight?”

Steve glanced down at the woman beside him. She shot him a bright, unguarded smile and his heart skipped a beat.

Darcy’s smile was something that Steve thought he was quickly becoming addicted to. Every time she gifted him with one, he wanted another. With her, he knew what he was getting, there was no questions, no hiding, no doubting, no masks. He could read her instantly and Steve had always appreciated honesty. 

“Nope. Clint fixed my door,” Darcy explained, and his brows lifted in response. She bumped her shoulder into his, “don’t look so disappointed.”

He pulled her to a stop in the hallway.

“Darcy,” Steve grabbed both of her hands now, his voice earnest. “We got pretty carried away tonight. _I_ got carried away and while I don’t regret a second of it, I want to make sure that you know I’m not expecting—”

“Oh! I know,” Darcy cut him off, nodding in a jerky manner. She shifted on her feet, lifting one shoulder nearly to her ear, something he was realizing she did when she was distinctly unsure of herself. “I was just messing with you, Muscles.”

Steve’s lips ticked upwards, like they always did when she called him that, but he kept his tone serious. “Regardless, it needs to be said aloud so we both have a clear understanding. I’m not going to pressure you. We go at your pace.”

There was a beat of silence and then—

“Oh, we do?” Darcy asked, her mouth forming the words slowly, lacing each syllable with interest and some instinctual thing started blaring alarms in Steve’s head, telling him that he had just stepped into a trap. He narrowed his eyes at her. Darcy’s lips pursed and she rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she brought a single finger up to tap her bottom lip, all sass. “If I recall, _my_ pace was asking for the chance to touch your dick, but _someone_ said _noooo_.”

Really, Steve should have seen it coming. 

“I’m well aware,” Steve told her slowly. He stepped closer to her, crowding in until she had no choice but tip her head back to meet his eyes. Then he bent until his lips brushed against the shell of her ear and added a soft, “But as I said before, not tonight, sweetheart.”

Darcy reeled back, affronted, and it was obvious she was trying hard not to smile even as she gasped out, “Ugh, _tease_.”

Steve snickered and then his laugh died down. He swept his thumbs over the back of her hands and his voice lowered to a tone that he knew would catch her attention. 

“All joking aside, I didn’t want any rash decisions to be made tonight. We’re not going to mess this up by going too fast.”

She sobered instantly and there was a moment that Steve swore he caught a flash of fear in her eyes.

“Thank you. I get what you mean, and I do appreciate you looking out for both of us,” Darcy nodded, her brows lifting in the middle. Her gaze flicked off to the side, “In all truth, I’m typically a lot more cautious about this sort of thing… for a reason.” Her eyes darted back to his, almost unsure, as her voice turned quiet. “But life is really different right now than it was even a month ago— _I_ feel like a different person. None of us know what tomorrow will bring, or if there will _be_ a tomorrow. We’ve learned that the hard way and we’ve both lost a lot. But, like you said, not rushing things is good— _smart_. I’ll admit, we did kind of jump the gun there… Completely your fault, by the way, looking like that.”

Darcy made a grand gesture to him in general and Steve gave her a fond look, his voice full of affection.

“Tell yourself that, sweetheart.”

Her pale cheeks blushed scarlet and something about the sight made Steve want to find every way possible that he could make her turn such an interesting shade of red. 

“I should go to bed.” Darcy blurted, as if she had read Steve’s mind, and he broke into a sharp grin.

“Probably.”

“Otherwise, I might jump your bones.”

Steve tilted his head at that new phrase. He might not have heard it before, but he was pretty sure he understood the meaning. Darcy, however, went ramrod straight, blinking rapidly, like she hadn’t expected for those words to come out of her lips. He watched the cogs turn in her brain and then, the next thing he knew, like a bomb had detonated inside of her, words exploded from her lips like shrapnel.

“ _Whew!_ Well, okay then, how about that? I’m off to go bury myself under a mountain of blankets before I say anything else. Here’s this,” she shrugged off his jacket and tossed it in his arms. “Thank you, by the way, super helpful and it smells good—you smell good. _Really_ good. Like so good. Yummy good. Wait, what? Why did I even say that? Oh god, it’s happening,” the look she sent him was one of utter panic, all the while her lips kept moving faster and faster. “I can’t stop— _STEVE, HELP!_ I need to go before _mmph_ —”

Not knowing what else to do, he cut her off with a swift kiss.

Steve had known some people to be nervous talkers, but none quite like Darcy. He held her face between his hands, firm and steady, and after a second, he pulled back watching the way her eyes stayed closed with a deep kind of pleasure.

“Mm. Note to self, Captain America’s lips are a very effective method to defeating the dreaded word vomit,” her words were not exactly shaking, but they were close.

Steve’s nose scrunched in disgust at the mention of vomit.

“Can we find a better term?”

Darcy’s eyes popped open and she squinted at him. “Verbal diarrhea? Wait, no, that’s not any better is it?”

Steve just groaned in response as her laughter echoed down the hall. She laughed all the way to her room and against his lips as he kissed her one last time that night and though she didn’t know it—had no idea—the sound of her laugh was like a light piercing through the fog to his very soul. It— _she_ —called him like a lost and battered ship out of the stormy sea and into a harbor that was warm and welcoming and home.

* * *

The God of Thunder was a dark silhouette against the light that filled the hallway behind him. Whatever soft, dopey spell Darcy had put him under vanished the moment Steve turned the corner towards his room. Thor was leaning against Steve’s door, thick arms crossed over his massive chest. 

The god had been waiting for him. For how long, Steve had no clue. Thor stared hard at the ground; his brows pinched harshly in thought. Warily, Steve’s steps gradually slowed until he was only a few feet away, and then he came to a full stop. 

“Thor.”

A beat of silence.

“Steven,” Thor answered evenly, his deep voice quiet as he slowly lifted his head. “Might we have a word?”

It was phrased as a question, but Steve knew instantly that there was no decision to be made—they _would_ be having a word whether he wanted to have one or not.

He nodded anyway and went to the door to his room, holding it open for Thor to walk through. The god entered silently, his broad shoulders brushing by the suddenly too-small space with a whisper and Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just let a predator into his home. One that he might not be able to defend himself against.

Muscles tensing, Steve flicked on the light and softly shut the door behind him. Thor wasn’t facing him, instead his eyes were drifting around the room.

“Everything okay?” Steve prompted for pretenses alone.

Steve didn’t have to ask why Thor was there, he already knew and should have been expecting it. Growing up in Brooklyn, he had seen Bucky wear this same expression after he found out Rebecca was dating a guy two years older than her—worse, he was one of their classmates. Hell, Steve had gone along with Buck to have a talk with the guy, to try and put the fear of god in him.

He had never been on the receiving end of such a talk though and Steve wasn’t sure if Asgardians played by the same rules. 

Steve eyed the Wakandan shields hanging on the wall, just beyond Thor. Not that he expected violence right now, but he and Thor had already come to blows before over a situation involving Darcy. He couldn’t be too careful—Thor packed a hell of a punch.

Steve waited for the god and when Thor finally turned to him, his smile was very tight. 

“I was looking for Darcy earlier this evening and could not find her,” he started, blue eyes much older than the rest of him. “When I inquired of FRIDAY, I was informed that you had taken her to the roof. But that was hours ago.”

Slowly, Steve straightened.

“She needed to get some fresh air and to talk,” he told the god simply, choosing his words very carefully. 

Thor nodded and drew in a breath, his steps slow and threatening and he did not take his eyes off Steve as he began to speak. “Darcy is not of my blood, but she is the sister of my heart. I am not her keeper and do not pretend to be but know this Steven Grant Rogers: treat her as a queen and nothing less and you will never hear from me.”

When he spoke, Thor’s voice sounded like history books, if history books were made of thunder as well as blood. He was close enough that Steve could see the flecks of gold in his eyes and Thor was just an inch or so taller than him, could wipe the floor with him in a fight, but Steve held his gaze nonetheless.

“Understood.”

“You are a good man,” Thor said at last and there were flashes of distant lightning in his eyes. “Be good to her.”

* * *

Lounging on the small cot he had been allotted, Loki had one hand tucked behind his head as he stared blankly at the ceiling above. A long leg draped off the edge, bent at the knee uncomfortably. He had no clock, no windows to gauge the amount of time he had been asleep, let alone in this cell, but his body told him it was just after dawn. 

The sound of approaching footsteps floated to his ears with a quiet _clack, clack, clack_. He didn’t bother to turn and look before droning out a very bored sounding—

“Have I served my time?”

Really, the least they could do was provide him with some books. His cell in Asgard was not this dull.

“Not quite,” a voice he had not expected answered and Loki froze in surprise before slowly curling his body to sit up inch by inch.

Green eyes lit up in interest at the new arrival. “And so we meet again. Odd, I had thought Thor was relegated to dealing with the prisoner.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” the redheaded woman told him evenly. She was small and unassuming and utterly unreadable, but Loki had learned. He might have fallen for her tricks once before, but Loki had also grown, and he was not the same god that he was then.

“My arrangements state otherwise,” Loki lifted a delicate brow in practiced nonchalance. After a moment, he tilted his head at her. “Why are you here?”

She did not answer for a long time. And then—

“Because I’m not as nice as Thor.”

_Such a curious creature._

“I see. Are you here to threaten me? Even after I brought such a gift?”

Something flashed in her face then, some emotion that Loki could not catch and dissect. She schooled her features and walked a practiced sort of circle around his glass cage. His eyes tracked her every move. 

“No, I’m not,” she admitted in that quiet way and said nothing more.

Loki gazed steadily at the woman, keeping his expression perfectly even as it dawned on him. “You’re here for information. That is what you do best, is it not?”

Silence.

“Some might say killing is what I do best.”

“You are wasted on such,” Loki shook his head and the redheaded woman looked at him now and though she didn’t outwardly show it, he knew he had surprised her. There was some glee in that knowledge. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice dropping low. “Now, tell me, what is it that you wish to know?”

“We’re losing,” she began simply. “We have one stone to Thanos’ five, we don’t have the resources or the team. We know next to nothing about the one stone that we do have.” She paused there and her eyes burned. “But you do.”

For a second, Loki was quiet. “Go on.”

“If the Soul Stone contains what you say it does, if it can be opened and we can bring everyone back, then I need to know… Can we trust you?”

Loki straightened up slowly. That was not the question he had expected. She was watching him though with the calculating gaze of a mind far too sharp for its own good—a mind much like his own. He thought back to the first time she had come to him when he was imprisoned, of what he had used against her, assuming her attachment to Barton would be her ruin, as it would be for any other.

She had tricked him—tricked _him_ , the God of Mischief. Unknowingly, this meager human woman had earned his respect in that moment, if not his rage at being made the fool. And yet… there had been some truth to his original claims.

Barton _was_ a weakness, but he was not just a weakness for her. He was a way _through_.

Loki stared at her calmly, steeling himself and willing her to be as clever as he suspected she was to read between the lines.

“You can trust me the same way you trusted your Barton even after I scrambled his brain and used him as a puppet to commit unspeakable evil. He had been nothing but my pawn, after all.”

The God of Mischief didn’t say the words with his trademark smile, there was no humor in his voice, no delight; it simply was.

For a long time, the redheaded woman said nothing. Her brows pulled low over her eyes and then, as if someone had clicked their fingers, her expression smoothed out in something akin to understanding.

“I see.”

* * *

After a long sleep and a hot shower, Darcy may or may not have taken some extra time in the mirror working on her hair. She may or may not have swung her hips back and forth as a soft, happy song hummed from her lips. She may or may not have even put on her first bit of makeup since the Snap. 

Okay, she _did_ do all of that and it felt amazing. She would never again take for granted the chance to do something remotely girly and just… _normal_ after living in nothing but survival mode.

And the fact that Steve Rogers (hunk extraordinaire) was hanging around might have given her some extra incentive. 

It felt as though she spent the entire morning getting ready with a smile on her lips. Every time she tried to stop smiling like an idiot, it grew right back. Her face had actually started to hurt due to the insane amount of smiling she was doing. Eventually, Darcy gave up trying to hold it in. She may have looked like a schoolgirl with a crush, but she didn’t care. 

Once she had put on a fresh change of clothes, Darcy checked herself over one last time in the mirror. 

“FRIDAY?” She called out, twisting this way and that, smoothing her hands over invisible wrinkles.

“ _Good morning, Miss Lewis,_ ” chimed in the immediate response. “ _How may I be of assistance?_ ”

“Good morning,” Darcy greeted back with a grin, wanting to be polite. “I was just wondering if there’s anything going on today? I woke up a little late and wasn’t sure.”

There was a hesitation from the AI and she glanced up at the ceiling expectantly.

“ _Business as usual, Miss Lewis._ ” FRIDAY said eventually. “ _May I suggest you enjoy breakfast in the Commons? Most of the others have already eaten_.”

“Oh,” Darcy pursed her lips with a nod. “Okay. Thank you, FRIDAY.”

The answer from FRIDAY had felt oddly cryptic but given the fact that Stark had all but freaked out on her the day before, Darcy understood its hesitation. He was its creator after all—Voldemort or not. Shaking off the thoughts, she slipped on her sandals and headed out the door.

The walk to the Commons was an easy one, seeing that she was the only person in the hallways. She was not, however, the only one in the Commons (more like she was not the only late sleeper just now catching breakfast).

At the counter sat a perky looking Groot happily chomping away at… a bowl of Skittles. 

Darcy paused mid-step and blinked at the tree’s choice of food. 

“Really?” She deadpanned and then twisted her lips. “I know I’m supposed to be the fun aunt and I am—I am _so_ fun—but even I have to admit that this is concerning. Aren’t you sick of those by now?”

The teenage tree merely blinked his soft brown eyes Darcy’s way in absolute innocence. “I am Groot?”

“Would you like some cereal?” She offered instead, going to the pantry. “I can find you some. It has probably just as much sugar.” Groot stared at her blankly, but she caught the way his hand tightened around his bowl, like he was preparing to fight to the death for his prize. 

“ _I. Am. Groot._ ”

Darcy snorted and made a beeline straight for the coffee machine. “Fine then, more cereal for the rest of us.”

She didn’t mention the hypocrisy of her judging Groot’s Skittles addiction as she fed her own coffee addiction. Nope. She wasn’t mentioning that one bit.

The Super Keurig gurgled and buzzed and a few seconds later it filled her mug with divine, piping hot coffee. Darcy inhaled the incredible smell and then quickly added in some creamer. Once she got it to her favored color of brown, she wrapped both hands around the mug and lifted it to her lips with a sigh.

Turning around, she popped her hip against the counter and licked her lips. “Hey Groot, where is everyone today?”

“I am Groot,” the tree informed her happily and Darcy snorted.

“Yeah, I don’t even know why I asked. Maybe Thor can teach us all lessons and soon we’ll be able to speak Groot. How does that sound?”

The tree spooned a mouthful of Skittles in his mouth, kicking his feet obnoxiously against the base of the island.

Movement just outside caught Darcy’s attention, thanks to the walls being nothing but glass. Her brows lifted at the rapid approach of Carol and the Skrulls. They entered swiftly, looking all business and Darcy and Groot watched them with great interest. Carol flashed them a grin quick as lightning but said nothing before marching through the Commons into the hallways, Talos and a couple of other Skrulls right behind her.

Darcy frowned. That was odd, but given the lack of Avengers hanging around and FRIDAY’s hesitant answer to her this morning, it didn’t take much for Darcy to reach the conclusion that there was something important happening… and she had not been invited.

She tried not to think about how much that sucked, how it was a stark reminder of her place here, or lack thereof, because if she started down that hole, it was a deep, dark, never-ending tunnel that she might not be able to pull herself out of. And she had spent enough time in the deep, dark places of her mind and emotions over the last couple of weeks and she wasn’t ready to go back. Not when everything had been going so great.

“Hmm. Apparently, we missed a memo, Groot,” Darcy said aloud.

“They’ve called a meeting.”

The voice came from directly behind her and Darcy nearly jumped out of her skin. Some of her coffee spilled out over her hand and she hissed in pain, setting the mug down swiftly and wiping off the offending liquid on her leggings. She whirled around to the newest arrival standing in the Commons, looking so small and lost in the large space. 

Carol and her crew had left behind a Skrull, and not just any Skrull. This was the same one that Darcy had asked to shift into the form of Beyoncé back at the safehouse. He was watching her with a shy but kind gaze, as if he wasn’t entirely sure that his presence was welcome.

A pang shot through her. She knew how that felt and there was no way in hell she’d let anyone else go through it if she could help it. 

Lips splitting into a soft smile, Darcy stepped toward the young Skrull. “Hello there. I never caught your name?”

“Zokar,” he said quietly with a gentle blink of his reptilian eyes and Darcy’s heart melted.

_Damn teenagers._

“Nice to meet you, Zokar. I’m Darcy,” she pointed to herself, then to candy hoarding teenage tree, “This is Groot.”

“ _I_ am Groot.”

Zokar nodded, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking on his toes slightly, unsure what to do next. And to be honest, Darcy had no clue either. Until a thought struck her.

“You said there was a meeting being called?”

The Skrull nodded easily. Darcy’s eyes narrowed. She had two options, really. One was responsible and mature and the other…

With a twist of her lips and waggle of her brows, she asked, “Who is up for spying on the Avengers?”

* * *

She might have been taking the fun aunt life too far but it wasn’t every day you got the chance to spy on the Avengers—and besides, it was their fault for not inviting her in the first place. They were practically forcing her hand here.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

Darcy eyed the way that Groot and Zokar were crouched on the floor just over her shoulder, hunched over their bent knees, very alert. Well, Zokar was alert. Groot was… Groot was that kid at the soccer games who chased butterflies and picked flowers instead of actually kicking the ball. Still, she had to admit, both were much better at being stealthy than she was in her cheap, two-dollar flip-flops (which flipped and flopped much louder than she would have liked). But they had made it down to the labs without alarms going off and without Darcy having another Jane-shaped meltdown (she had been worried it would have the same effect on her as it had before, but so far, she was good). 

Pressing her back hard against the wall, Darcy held her breath as she twisted slightly and peeked into the overly crowded lab.

All she saw were the backs of those gathered and nothing more. Frowning, Darcy spun back around, releasing her exhale through her lips and tried to quiet her racing heart to listen in. The voices were mumbles at first, like everything was underwater, but if she closed her eyes (she wasn’t sure why closing her eyes helped her hearing, but it did), she could make out the words.

“Yeah, we know the drill now, what I’m asking is how did he get it?”

“As far as I’m aware,” _that was Loki_ , “Thanos acquired this stone by sacrificing his adopted daughter.”

A thready gasp was in her ear and Darcy’s eyes popped open. She whirled around to see Groot’s thin, wooden mouth trembling. Unshed tears gathered in his warm, brown eyes and his gaze fell to the floor.

“Groot,” Darcy whispered in a barely-there voice, reaching for him, “are you okay?”

“It was someone he knew,” Zokar murmured from beside him, offering Groot a mournful look. Making a soft noise in the back of her throat, gently, Darcy grabbed Groot’s hand and on the other side of the tree, Zokar copied her movement and reached for his other.

“So, you’re telling us that we’re actually going to have to _sacrifice_ someone to get half of the universe back?”

Darcy grimaced at the question floating out of the lab, still holding onto Groot’s hand. 

Twisting again, she peeked one eye over the edge of the doorframe and gazed into the meeting. As she did, Loki’s eyes dropped from whomever he had been staring down directly to her, as though he had been aware she was listening in the entire time.

His eyes burned and he murmured out a soft, “Not quite.”

A jolt shot through her and Darcy’s heart flew up into her throat. She choked and spun back, with a strangled gasp, “ _Shit!_ Abort—abort mission!” Both Groot and Zokar just tipped their heads at her and she deflated against the wall. “You don’t know what I mean by that, do you?”

“Hey guys.”

A shadow appeared and Darcy jumped, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. Swallowing hard, she flattened her lips and squinted up at the person who caught them in utter mortification.

Peter Parker’s form was blocking out the harsh light directly behind him and it cast a fine silvery outline around his silhouette, making him look like he was glowing. But even in the harsh contrast, she could see his utter confusion at finding the three of them crouched on the ground outside the big meeting.

“Ugh,” Darcy groaned, keeping her voice quiet. “Hi.”

Peter looked at her, then at Groot and Zokar. He jerked his thumb to the room behind him. “You know, you all can just come inside, right?”

“Of course, we _know_ that,” Darcy scoffed, turning to the others quickly to hide her absolutely flaming face. She sent the other two a meaningful look. “Don’t we?”

“I am Groot.”

Zokar looked at Groot and then shook his head in utter seriousness. “He didn’t know that.”

“Traitor,” Darcy muttered with no real venom and then she narrowed her eyes at the Skrull. “Also, I didn’t know you spoke Groot.”

“We all do,” Zokar shrugged as though it were obvious, and Darcy felt like groaning again.

With as much dignity as she could muster, because the children were watching, she rose to her feet and dusted herself off. Keeping her head high, Darcy slid into the lab, the gaggle of teens right behind her. She kept to the very back of the room, not wanting to disturb the meeting. A few of the other occupants glanced back at them, one being Carol who sent them a mischievous wink and Darcy was positive that the woman knew exactly what they had been caught doing… and approved?

“We don’t trade lives,” Darcy snapped back to herself at the sound of Steve’s voice—not Steve but _Captain America_. Her mind raced, things clicking into place that this was not some silly game but a meeting that she very much wanted to be a part of. Steve’s back was mostly to her, and he was staring down at something in front of him, every muscle in his back rigid. “That’s been decided.”

“So we search for another way—”

“—there is no other way,” Loki cut Stark off, exasperated.

Stark shook his head. “There is always another way.”

“Perhaps in your world, but the Soul Stone is not of Midgard. This is old power, ancient and cruel, and it carries knowledge that none of us could ever possibly comprehend, even with all of our minds combined.”

“We can truly bring them back—everyone who was taken?”

Darcy’s eyes darted to owner of the voice and at the sight of Thor, her heart seized in her chest. Even from across the room, she could see he was looking at his brother in something that was almost desperation and not quite pleading but a strange mixture of the two. Thor swallowed as though there was something stuck in his throat.

Loki eyed his brother and nodded slowly. “Every single one… Even your Jane.”

The world shifted under her feet. Her head spun, twisted, and then righted itself leaving Darcy dizzy. Even though Loki had told them this the first night, Darcy had to admit that she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on the idea of actually getting Jane back—of actually setting the world right again. It felt impossible, fragile, _unattainable_ , after everything. Even now, there was a measure of cruelty because it was clear that anything they did would come at a cost.

But to have _Jane_ back; to have the world set right…

She would do anything for that.

A light grew inside of Darcy’s chest, bursting forth in a fiery birth and it was a living thing, spreading red wings inside of her as it lifted its face and turned to the sun; it hurt. It hurt because it was hope and daring to have hope hurt in the face of such disappointment and loss and failure. It hurt to imagine that things could change. But it hurt in all the ways she needed. 

It had been such a long time since she had felt any measure of hope that Darcy didn’t recognize it at first. But now it sang through her blood and she _ached_ for it to be real.

Someone shifted in the crowd and from the very back of the room, Darcy caught sight of the glowing source of their hope for the briefest of seconds before it disappeared again behind the other bodies.

But it was enough.

Like the Soul Stone had harpooned itself inside of her stomach, Darcy jerked, her breath rushing out from her lungs, as it hooked mercilessly inside of her and _pulled_. It was no gentle calling this time, no soft tug, no sweet temptation. It was desperate and hard and cruel. Her ears felt like they were filled with cotton, drowning out everything but the way the stone sang her name over and over and over and the ache that had been present before pulsed through her now like needles under her skin until it physically hurt. It flowed through her veins, filling every inch of her with _need_.

_Darcy._

It could be real; they could be freed— _she_ could free them.

_Darcy. Darcy. DARCY._

She should free them.

_DARCYDARCYDARCYDARCYDAR—_

“How would the sacrifice be done?”

Darcy snapped back to herself, the question ripping her from the chaotic screaming in her head and she blinked slowly, not realizing how badly she was trembling. Steve had been the one to ask and she stared at him now, watched the way he also stared down at the stone and in an instant, Darcy knew that look in his eye. 

She might have kissed him, might have held him for one night—and not even a whole night, might have shared with him things about herself that frightened her and worried her, might have given this man a piece of her heart, but Steve Rogers was staring at the stone like it held his very soul. He stared at it like nothing else mattered but what was inside. 

And she supposed all of that was true. 

Because if they somehow managed to open the Soul Stone, if they managed to free those inside, it meant Jane would be back, but not just Jane.

It meant James Buchanan Barnes, too. Bucky.

Bucky, whom Steve loved. Bucky, whom Steve tore the world apart for. Bucky, whom Steve would leave her for in an instant. Bucky, whom she didn’t stand a chance against. She was Darcy Lewis after all, she was a nobody and they were superheroes and not just superheroes, Bucky and Steve had a fucking hundred-year romance that survived beyond captivity and death and the impossible. Of course, they would get their happy ending. They _deserved_ it.

Loki kept talking about a sacrifice having to be made and Darcy distantly thought that if losing Steve was her sacrifice, she wasn’t sure she wanted to open the stone at all.

A very real dread creeped up her legs, like the rising waves of an ancient ocean, and Darcy didn’t stop it before it swept over her head and filled her lungs until there wasn’t any air left. No one stopped her when she turned and quietly slipped out the door, shaking, sweat coating her skin, heartbreak ripping through her chest.

No one stopped her because that’s exactly what she was.

No one.

* * *

Her feet led her to the tree line on the Compound property about a mile south of where the Skrulls ship was parked. The roof was out of the question. Darcy didn’t want to be found right now and she knew that if, for whatever reason, Steve or Thor went looking for her, that was the first place they would go besides her room.

Once she got out of those labs, away from it all, the strange pull from the stone lessened into nothing and Darcy’s lungs opened and the fog clouding her thoughts began to clear. 

The sorrow, however, did not.

Gray clouds loomed above like thick sea foam and the air was dense and moist with the promise of a coming rain. Darcy wasn’t stupid enough to go wandering into the forest, settling instead for resting against an inviting moss-covered tree trunk. She wrapped her arms around her knees, curling them almost painfully into her chest, resting her chin atop her knees, and simply breathed. 

Soon, birds began twittering in the branches above and Darcy let her mind go blank.

She thought of Jane; golden, glowing Jane with her brilliance and her fierce love and the way that she made Darcy feel so _seen_. She thought of how deeply Thor loved her, that a tiny, human woman could bewitch a god of the ancient worlds so completely (of course Jane did, because she’s _Jane_.). She thought of long summer drives with the windows down and Jane in the passenger seat, arguing with her over the old Atlas she still insisted on using anytime they went on a road trip, Poptart crumbs at the corner of her lips. 

She thought of Jane and she wept. 

Darcy sobbed for a long time, shaking and heaving, tears pouring down her face like they were coming from a bottomless well. She wept until she cried herself out, purging her soul, and the tears left her feeling raw, like she’d been scrubbed clean from the inside out. The tears had drained her, leaving little room for anything but a quiet sort of exhaustion. An odd kind of calm finally spread through her. 

Darcy missed her friend now more than ever and to _think_ that for an instant she let herself question opening up the stone because she would rather save herself the inevitable heartache of losing Steve than getting Jane and the billions of other people back.

God, how selfish could she get? 

Darcy couldn’t stomach that. No. 

Jane was hers long before Steve ever was (and he never was, not really, he was a fleeting dream—too good to be real, too good to be _hers_ ) and as the damp from the soft forest floor seeped into her clothes, sinking into her skin, wrapping around her bones, Darcy made her choice.

Not that she even had _any_ power to influence a decision among the Avengers… but still. For herself, she decided.

The stone had to open. They had to get Jane back, they had to set the world right. This was about more than her and her fucking feelings, this was about the universe as a whole, this was about what was _right_. Her heart be damned. 

The stone had to open.

“Whatever it takes,” Darcy breathed out, her voice soft but an edict, nonetheless.

* * *

When she returned to the Compound, she was alert and calm, filled with a strange stillness and purpose. She entered the Commons as though nothing had happened and was relieved to see that the only two occupants were Thor and Loki (she never thought in her life she would be relieved to see Loki, but seeing that he wasn’t Steve… here she was).

Thor was rummaging around, banging open various cabinets, clearly hunting for some form of dinner while Loki merely watched in a bored kind of amusement.

Both of their eyes snapped to her the moment she arrived.

“Darcy?” Thor called out immediately, brows pinching together as his eyes flickering over her form. She had no idea what she looked like after spending the afternoon on the wet ground, but obviously it must have been concerning given the way Thor left his brother behind near all of the sharp kitchen objects and approached her. 

“What is wrong?” He asked, lowering his voice. 

“I’m fine, Thor,” Darcy sighed, suddenly exhausted and wanting nothing more than to go to her room and just _sleep_.

To help convince him, she plastered on her best fake smile, but Thor saw right through it. His blue eyes looked oddly… hurt. “You know better than to lie to me. You have been crying.”

Her smile faded into a wince.

“I just needed some space and time to think. It was all a little overwhelming.”

“I heard you were in the meeting today,” Thor said abruptly, his voice sounding odd as he continued searching her face for some answer to his questions. Darcy swallowed and met his eyes, saying nothing. Finally, he continued, “Nothing has been decided yet. Despite my brother’s claims,” Loki scoffed loudly from behind Thor at this. “Stark and Banner and some of the others are trying to find a way around the stone. But we _will_ find a way, Darcy. We will get Jane back.”

Darcy could say nothing but simply nod. Thor lifted a big hand and cupped the side of her face and there was a deep sweetness there in his gaze, the kind that could bring a person to their knees. Her eyes slid shut and her hand lifted to hold onto his wrist out of instinct. 

“Do not fret,” the god of Thunder whispered in a comforting murmur. His fingers thread through her hair until he cupped the back of her head. Darcy didn’t fight the way that he pulled her into his chest for a hug—she gladly stepped into it, arms wrapping around him, fingers twisting tightly in the material of his shirt. Darcy’s eyes screwed shut and she swallowed down a wet gasp before it could escape her lips.

 _God_ , she loved Thor.

“Steven was looking for you.”

Her eyes flew open, lashes nothing but wet clumps. She didn’t pull her face away from his chest, merely letting out a quiet, “Oh?”

Thor went utterly still and the small hairs on Darcy’s arms lifted, like they would with static electricity.

“Darcy,” Thor began in a voice so deadly soft, “is there something you need to tell me?”

“Nope,” her voice was muffled against the material of his shirt and she shook her head firmly. “All good here.”

A beat of silence.

Heavy hands landed on her shoulders and she felt his chest expand as he drew in a deep breath, no doubt preparing for some kind of brotherly speec—

“Thor?”

The god twisted, Darcy still attached to his middle like a human barnacle but she looked as well. Bruce was standing at the entry of the kitchen, eyeing Loki before flicking his gaze to the two of them. He lifted a manila folder. “One of the Skrulls was injured during a training session today. I’m not familiar with their genetic makeup, I was wondering if you could take a look to make sure I’m not missing anything?”

She felt Thor nod and released him from her grip.

“Of course,” the god agreed, turning on his heel. Bruce grinned in relief and held out the folder.

The two huddled together, looking at whatever medical results Bruce had brought and Darcy released whatever breath she had been holding and walked further into the Commons. Highly aware of Loki’s eyes tracking her path, she took the opposite way around the large kitchen island so she wouldn’t have to go near him. Silently, she grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and held it under the water filter, waiting for the machine to light up.

“My brother is abnormally fond of you.”

Darcy eyed the raven-haired god warily, wondering how he had snuck up on her so quietly. But then again, she was in the Avengers Compound, everyone here was stealthy but her. Darcy pulled the tall water glass away from the filter, taking a moment to drink from it. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she kept her answer carefully even, “It’s called friendship.”

“Friendship,” Loki repeated, lifting a delicate brow. He had somehow perfected the classic Jane Austen aristocratic scoff and it made Darcy wonder where he had learned it. “Between a human woman and a god?”

She didn’t miss the dismissive manner in which his gaze swept over her, as though she had been found wanting before he even inspected. It raised her hackles.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” She asked, her voice hard after the day she had had. And then Darcy’s eyes slid to Thor and the way that he spoke quietly with Bruce, his mouth curved in a natural smile, large hand gripping the shoulder of the other man. “I’m not the only human who’s his friend. Thor has a lot of people that love him. He’s kind of a lovable guy.”

“I’ve noticed,” Loki assured her, but he didn’t take his eyes away from her once. “I’ve warned him before, he is far too easily attached to humans.”

Darcy frowned, her eyes narrowing into a squint. She took another swallow from her water. “What makes attachment to humans such a bad idea?”

“What do you think will happen to him when you grow old and gray and die and he is left behind in his strength with thousands upon thousands of years left to live? Attachment brings pain, nothing more.”

“What of his attachment to you?” 

For a moment, Darcy didn’t know who was more stunned by the question: her or Loki. 

Maybe it was the fact that she had cried herself out and literally had no shits left to give, but now that she had asked, she couldn’t stop the words as they started pouring out of her throat. 

“Have you not also brought him pain—are _you_ not also in pain?” Darcy asked but didn’t give him time to answer before continuing. “Pain is… pain is necessary and unavoidable. It informs us when something is wrong and needs to be made right. Sometimes it’s a megaphone letting us know that we were loved, have loved, or are _in_ love. And yeah, I often run from it, like most people, but I’ve been thinking lately…” Darcy finally paused, her gaze drifting to the side as she thought of Jane and the near constant ache that accompanied her loss. Latching onto that, she let it fill all of the empty spaces in her until her voice was low and shaking, her teeth chattering behind her words so that this man—this _god_ —would feel every ounce of pain that she carried and understand that someone could carry that and still live with it. That sometimes the pain was _worth_ it. “If we never feel pain, then we are missing the full range of what it means to live. It—it’s what makes us _human_.”

For a long moment, Loki just stared at her, like she was a particularly interesting science experiment, and then he tilted his head and his voice became careless, sliding over the words easily. “Ah, but Thor is not human.”

Darcy set her glass down on the counter.

“And what about you?”

The god went preternaturally still and for the first time since their conversation began, Darcy felt a small measure of fear. Slowly, just a mere tilt of his head, Loki turned to her and the look in his eyes then was unnerving, how quickly he became cold and calculating and empty.

“I am something else entirely,” Loki said, and the look carried over to his voice and there was nothing human about it.

“Is that why you’re afraid?”

His eyes were ice. 

“And what…” Loki started, his voice now almost friendly and amiable and something about it told Darcy to be very careful. “Is it that you believe I fear?”

Slowly, Darcy’s lips curled.

“Love, Loki. I think you fear love.”

The God of Mischief started and stared. Darcy felt her blood flare with something like triumph when he said nothing. 

“Am I wrong?” She asked.

Loki was tall, very tall, and though he wasn’t directly standing over her, he loomed all the same. He stared down at her, expressionless, and there were a few moments of silence, until—

“Can you hear it?”

Darcy’s brows furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“The stone—can you hear it?”

This time, Darcy went silent. And Loki grinned, suddenly, and there was something strange in the smile, something underneath it, and his eyes, unreadable, held no clue.

“Shall I repeat the question?”

Darcy’s eyes flashed at his mocking tone and she shook her head. “No. I just don’t think I understand what you mean. You kind of threw me for a one-eighty there.”

The look Loki gave her said that it should have been obvious. “The stones call to me, the power in them—the potential. I can feel them pulsing through my veins, drawing me deeper, _singing_ my name. This one, the Soul Stone, is particularly strong,” Loki’s voice was quiet and conversational and then his eyes dropped to hers and they were burning. “Does it call to you as well?”

Darcy made very sure that nothing in her face changed.

“No.”

There were a few seconds that he just looked at her, his green eyes churning, and Darcy could have sworn that he could read her mind.

“Curious.”

* * *

“ _Miss Lewis, Captain Rogers is requesting your location._ ”

Her head snapped up and she lowered the book she had been reading. The room was aglow in a warm yellow light from a nearby lamp and Darcy had tucked herself into bed a while ago. Her heart leapt and then twisted sharply, despite the heavy sleepiness pulling at all her limbs.

“Please tell him I am sleeping, but don’t tell him I told you to say that… just,” Darcy paused, her voice quiet, chest tight, “just say that I fell asleep.”

“ _That would be a lie, Miss Lewis._ ” FRIDAY informed her and Darcy felt a sting of guilt.

“I am aware.”

She waited, staring up at the ceiling in a wincing kind of hope. Finally, the AI seemed to sigh out, “ _If that is what you wish. But please know that in the future this is not the best way to handle relationships._ ”

FRIDAY went silent after that and Darcy blinked, wondering what it said about her if the AI was trying to give her relationship advice. Not that she and Steve were… he hadn’t even _asked_ … so…

A string of thorns wrapped around her heart, squeezing until it was difficult to breathe. Darcy shut her book and tossed it beside her, screwing her eyes shut and curled her fingers into fists.

When it passed, Darcy let out a shaky breath, blinking away the remaining tears.

She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes having cried enough for today; she didn’t want to do it anymore. Not when she had made her damn mind up in such a way that even Steve wouldn’t be able to change it.

The stone needed to open. 

* * *

That night, Darcy dreamed. She dreamed for the second time of a dark-haired man she had never met with a smile as bright as the sun itself. He held her hand and whispered things she couldn’t understand. And then, in that dream, he vanished before her very eyes.

He vanished and she had to find him.

She had to find him _right now_.

Darcy was surrounded by a great darkness, as though thrown into an abyss to which there was no end. Sound did not exist, light did not exist, it was a nothingness that swallowed her whole, but she was not afraid. Darcy walked in the darkness, the ground beneath her feet cool to the touch but firm, and beyond, just beyond the shadow was a low, pulsing heartbeat. It called to her, sighing her name with the breathy cry of a lover and she moved towards it. 

The sighs became singing, as though there were thousands of voices now and the further she walked, the louder the song became until…

Until it became her own song.

It was a heady thing and she was dizzy, but she kept moving, letting it pull her where it wished. She was surrounded by darkness but far off, in the distance, was a soft, orange glow.

It looked warm and she was so very cold.

She walked towards it and as she did, the sky lit up in a blood red tint and everything was so very still. The ground looked as though it was actually shallow water and it reflected the bloodshot sky perfectly, except for one part—one place. The one place Darcy wanted— _needed_ to be. 

That spot was glowing brighter and bigger with every step she took, the singing now a part of her as she breathed in and breathed out and it was like the strands of an invisible thread tied itself around her, pulling, tugging, _owning_.

Darcy stopped, finally reaching the orange glow, and through the water at her feet, she saw the stone. She bent down to pick it up.

_Whatever it takes._

* * *

The pencil moved in swift strokes over his sketch pad as Steve settled in for an insomnia inspired drawing session. His mind was racing, unable to settle, pulled in so many different directions—trying to find a solution to the stone, getting Bucky back, defeating Thanos, and now Darcy. He wasn’t sure where he went wrong with that last one. When they had said goodnight just less than twenty-four hours ago, it had been all smiles and blushes and everything so fucking sweet about the woman.

Now? He couldn’t pinpoint it, but Steve’s gut told him _something_ was wrong. 

She was avoiding him.

Not paying attention to his drawing, Steve paused for a second and stretched his arms above his head, a yawn escaping his mouth. He _was_ tired, but that didn’t mean he would actually sleep. Rolling his neck and letting it crack (something Buck normally griped at him about), Steve sighed heavily and glanced down to his work.

The pencil fell from his hand to the tiled floor.

Steve stared hard at the half-finished picture. Most of the time, he didn’t have to think about what he worked on. It was always variations of things that he knew, had drawn thousands of times—Brooklyn, Coney Island, Bucky, the Howlies, even some of his newer teammates. But never before had Steve drawn Darcy.

Until now. 

It was undeniable that it was her, too, she was staring back at him, naturally hooded eyes in a happy squint, her plump mouth curved in a wide smile. Carefully, Steve bent and blindly reached for his fallen pencil.

And then the Compound alarms started screeching.

The lights shut off and the emergency lights turned on, casting the world in a deep shade of red. Steel doors slammed shut over the glass walls and a blaring siren tore through the quiet of the night. 

_The stone._

Steve was on his feet in less than a second, sketchbook tossed aside, forgotten. Feet pounding down the hallway, he caught the tail ends of panicked shouts from his teammates but didn’t stop running. The momentum he had and the speed at which he ran made hallways pure hell getting through. He slammed into a few walls, heard them crunch under his impact and knew he was leaving massive cavities in his wake, but kept his feet moving.

“FRIDAY!” Steve shouted, suddenly as he made his way to the labs. “Location on Loki?”

“ _He is detained in his cell, Captain Rogers._ ”

Behind him, he heard shouts growing closer, the other Avengers not far behind his head start. The closer he got to the labs though, the louder the alarms became, and Steve had a hard time hearing anything else over the screeching. He tore down the last hallway, feet barely even touching the ground, recognizing the shift into the laboratories as the top half of the walls now turned to glass, giving him the chance to see who the fuck—

_Oh god._

Steve skidded to a stop, feet sliding across the slick tiled floor, hands gripping the doorframe and denting it as he tried to stop himself from missing the turn. He knew the undeniable shape of the person inside the lab, removing the glass case from the stone like he knew the half-finished drawing from his first glance and his throat nearly tore itself loose as he roared out.

“ _DARCY, NO!_ ”

He ran for her, in a blind panic, hand reached out, inches away—

_Please no, god no, please, please, please, not again, no—_

But it was too late. 

He reached Darcy the second after her hand wrapped around the stone and the room exploded in a flash of blinding light. Steve was thrown backwards, taking out multiple tables and rolling trays, shattering them instantly under his weight and the strength of the explosion. There was the sound of shattering glass and somewhere, someone was screaming.

It was Darcy. 

Steve’s head spun and his ears were ringing, his skin stung from the shards of glass slicing him open, but in a drowning kind of horror, Steve ignored it all as he watched Darcy rise into the air, head thrown back in a savage scream. He watched, helpless as time seemed to break and fracture and something like molten lava rolled under her skin, turning parts of it translucent, and then as though someone hit fast forward, everything sped up.

The light, that orange glow, retreated, slithering out of Darcy’s mouth and ears and eyes and she went frighteningly limp in midair before dropping to the ground with a lifeless _smack_.

Steve was scrambling on his hands and knees through the broken glass and spilled, smoking chemicals. When he finally reached her, her skin was cold as a dead fish and Steve shook hard, his heart pounding in his throat, so high he might choke on it. He dragged her into his lap and her arm flopped to the ground, the Soul Stone rolling out of her hand as though it were nothing more than a child’s toy.

“Darcy!” Thor bellowed out and Steve lifted his head, looking up at him, on his knees while holding her head to his chest. The God of Thunder paled, his flesh turning bone white, like his blood had been drained from him completely, and the next thing Steve knew, Thor was on his knees next to him, reaching for Darcy. 

The others arrived seconds after Thor, eyes blazing, ready for battle, and utterly lost at the sight inside the lab. Steve himself didn’t know what to do, Darcy was so light in his arms—

“Give her to me,” Thor was saying. Dazed, Steve just stared, until Thor snapped, “ _Steven_. Give her to me!”

He jerked and then nodded, carefully maneuvering Darcy into the god’s arms. He didn’t see any injuries, couldn’t spot the wound, but she clearly wasn’t moving and Steve wasn’t sure she was breathing.

“What the…”

Inhaling suddenly, Steve’s head snapped up at the sound of Clint’s gasp. And then, like a phantom hand was turning his head, he slowly looked up.

Above where he and Thor were, the air started to shimmer and flash, like the reflections of light catching on a mirror, and hands were pulling Steve back, moving him out of the way from whatever was happening. Steve let them and those hands were under his arms and he was pulled to his feet, Thor moving further back with Darcy but also unable to turn away.

They all waited, watching as the shimmering grew and changed, like shifting, glittering sands blown across a dune, molding, and twisting, until it formed a definitive shape. The shape became flesh and the flesh a body.

And then Steve’s world came to a complete and utter halt.

Dark blue eyes that he had known since the day he was born stared back at him and it was like he had been punched in the gut, the air left him and he stumbled forward, nearly falling back onto his knees. Bent over, Steve swallowed once, twice, and third time, and then he rasped out—

“ _Bucky?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winter is coming. 
> 
> Mwuahahaha it took over 100K for me to be able to use that line. I did tell you all to prepare to level up for the second arc, yes? Well, here we go. 
> 
> IMPORTANT: I will be taking a week off from updating (so start expecting an update around two weeks or so from now) to make sure the plot for the second arc of Ignition is good to go. Thanks for your patience!
> 
> In the meantime, check out the [Ignition Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5b1OCzbQSfebFIat6ou5zv?si=rZzSgvAeTnS1qlqi52PbFg) to listen in on some of the music I write to or use to help inspire scenes. Oh! And come to my [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) for sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, odd facts, manips, and general nerds uniting together.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second arc of Ignition! Buckle up, my babes.

Steve had never been one to believe in miracles, that was all Bucky. 

Throughout the course of their childhood, the dark-haired boy with the quick grin and kind heart was constantly reading to Steve every tale of impossibility or wonder or magic he could get his hands on. As usual for Bucky, his favorite time to read was in the hushed midnight hours. Steve would listen by stolen candlelight (because they always had to sneak one when Mrs. Barnes wasn’t looking). He listened with his eyes; transfixed more by the way Bucky told the story, the slant of his gaze, the curve of his lips, the way his arms flung wide for dramatic effect. As for the stories themselves, Steve had never been particularly interested. He was always more the cynic, convinced they were nothing but tricks and ignorance, because Steve’s life was _hard_ and the reality of a deadbeat father and being raised in extreme poverty had convinced him that things like miracles didn’t just happen. 

Now? Now, Steve wasn’t so sure. 

It wasn’t as easy to deny what was right before him, flesh and bone and blood, staring back at him with a face as familiar as his own. Steve had watched the man die, had watched him turn to ash, had touched the dark stain left behind in death’s wake.

And now Bucky was back.

“Steve?” 

There was broken glass beneath Steve’s knees, but his mind didn’t register the pain (it didn’t matter anyway, not now, not here). There was a hand on his shoulder (Natasha?), offering support and strength, but he had gone numb to everything that wasn’t the man standing on the other side of the room looking at him and only him. Steve tried to breathe, tried to swallow, but his throat was closing quickly.

Bucky was _back_.

“What happened?” Bucky asked, his eyes drifting just beyond Steve in a slow, cautious sweep of the room. Steve watched the way his throat worked, heard it with his own ears (and still couldn’t quite believe it). “Was I—you all are looking at me like I was dead.”

“You were.”

Clint’s words were quiet, and a jolt shot through Steve and he could see the same sharp shock hit Bucky by his sudden inhale. Blinking, Steve forced himself to remember the shape of the world around him, the stone, Thanos, the team at his back, the labs filled with broken glass and smoke. It was all real.

No one moved a muscle.

Bucky looked down, brows pulled tightly together, his face pinching as though he were trying to remember something just out of his reach. “Where’s the woman?” He asked at last, eyes flashing to Steve’s and when no one said anything, Bucky cleared his throat and reiterated louder, more sure. “There was a woman.”

Bucky’s words simmered to a boil under Steve’s skin and then it all came back in a surging rush, two worlds colliding, spilling over in a desperate gasp as he whipped around, frantically searching.

“ _Darcy_ —is she—?”

A hand tightened on his shoulder and Steve’s head snapped up to Natasha’s carefully blank face above him. Her voice was a cool balm to the fire scorching his skin. “Thor is taking her to the Med Bay with Bruce. They found a pulse—faint, but it’s there.” Muted green eyes flickered over his face and whatever Natasha saw there softened her gaze, her tone gentled. “I’ll go check on her. You should get back on your feet, Cap, and quit making him wait.”

Steve nodded, still feeling as though he was living outside of his body as he did just that.

He didn’t care that the team was watching, he didn’t care that he looked like a newborn foal trying to walk on gangly legs and shaky muscles, he didn’t care about anything but crossing the distance between him and Bucky.

Steve would walk through fire to get to him if he had to.

Before he even finished taking his last step, Bucky broke and reached for him, meeting him the rest of the way. Muscle met muscle, hands fisted into the material of shirts, arms like steel bands and Steve didn’t know who was holding tighter to who, him or Bucky. But the pressure was hard enough to almost hide the shudder rolling through Steve. 

Almost. 

“You’re really back?” Steve finally voiced and it was nothing more than a whisper squeezed between hope and disbelief, meant only for Bucky’s ears. He burrowed his face into the hollow between Bucky’s neck and shoulder. His eyes screwed shut and he gasped wetly, “This isn’t a dream?”

Slowly a hand cupped the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair with such familiarity that Steve’s heart nearly tore itself loose from his chest. He felt Bucky’s words more than he heard them, the smooth rumble, the surety, the comfort of Brooklyn and _home_ leaking into his voice. “No, Stevie. ‘S’not a dream. I made a vow to you and my line hasn’t come to an end. Not yet. I’m still with you. I’m here. _I’m here._ ”

 _A miracle_ , Steve thought distantly, _this is what a miracle is_.

And then, Steven Grant Rogers broke down and sobbed like a child.

* * *

“Careful.”

Tony froze, his eyes flicking up as the archer crouched beside him. With a raised brow, he lifted the tongs in his right hand and snapped them twice in the air, deadpanning, “Don’t worry, I got it.”

“Just saying.” Clint shrugged and Tony wordlessly turned back to the task at hand. 

Apparently, everyone had gotten so caught up in the return of the Winter Soldier that they forgot all about the fucking infinity stone just lying on the ground.

Tony hadn’t forgotten. 

Tony would never forget _anything_ about what he just saw.

Clenching his jaw, the billionaire was doing everything in his power to ignore the two super soldiers having their reunion just a few feet away from him. His ears tuned out their quiet whispers, his eyes refused to glance in their direction, but despite all his attempts, his mind still found it nearly impossible to completely disregard. After all, how was he supposed to reconcile the return of the murderer of his parents with the subsequent elation and flare of hope in the team?

Logically, Tony understood that what just took place was good news for them as a whole, was good news for the world, but was it good news for _him_? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he felt neither hope nor elation.

He had told Steve when they first spoke that he was still angry about everything and just _seeing_ Barnes now was enough to cement that feeling in the center of Tony’s chest. 

The billionaire wasn’t sure he would ever stop being angry about it.

Anything that he felt beyond that was too complicated and too exhausting to examine closely and so Tony turned the entirety of his focus instead to getting the fallen stone back into its damn case. 

At least he could do that.

“Here,” Barton shuffled the case closer, glass crunching beneath the heel of his boot, holding the top piece of the stone’s case in one hand and the base in the other. 

Tony pursed his lips and squinted slightly as he snagged the glowing, orange stone from the debris, carefully lifting it up between the two metal tongs and placed it back to its proper resting place. Barton was quick to cover it with the glass top, shutting it away and for that, Tony was glad. 

He had seen enough of that thing for today, _thank you very much_.

The two of them stood slowly then, eyeing the disaster zone that was his lab. Tony wasn’t too sure where to keep the stone now that this space had been so easily breached by a twenty-something millennial kid with next to no training (he would be having a _talk_ with FRIDAY and a close look at the security footage).

“This changes everything, you know,” Barton said suddenly, openly watching the two super soldiers.

Tony glanced at him.

“You’re assuming she’ll be able to do that again.”

“She will.” 

It was a slow thing, the way that Tony turned and looked at Barton then and it was like the world had fallen away. His mind flashed to the image of Darcy’s body contorting in midair, the way her head was thrown back, mouth torn open in a hollow scream of terror and he suddenly saw his own memories, falling through the wormhole in New York, surrounded by never-ending darkness…

Tony snapped back to himself. 

“You seem awful willing to make that choice for her, Barton,” the billionaire’s voice was flat. Barton went very still, and Tony watched the war unfold in his eyes, the indecision, and the fact that it was there at all told Tony he was right in his initial assessment. Reaching over, he took the case holding the Soul Stone out of Barton’s hands, his voice cold and hard and laced with something he couldn’t quite pin down. “The kid looked dead. But by all means, let’s ask her to do it again.”

Movement at the door of the lab caught their attention and Tony steeled himself at the arrival of a battle-ready Carol and the Skrulls. They must have heard the ruckus all the way out at their ship or caught the sudden surge of energy, either way, someone would have to explain to them what was going on and seeing that nearly everyone else on the team was preoccupied, it would be up to Tony. 

_Fan-fucking-tastic._

* * *

Natasha Romanoff knew her way to the Med Bay, had been there numerous times herself for various injuries, but that was not where she was going. 

She might have told Steve that’s where she was going, and she _would_ … after.

The redhead took a sharp right before the entrance to the clinic and followed the short, gray hallway until it opened to a narrow stairwell. Shadows rose to greet her, wrapping around her feet and crawling up her legs as she descended swiftly. Her steps were silent on the cool, cement stairs and the air became crisper, almost biting, as she glided down into the lower levels of the Compound. Natasha came to a halt at the bottom of the stairwell. For those who didn’t have the security clearance, it was a dead end with a giant, steel locked door. But security clearance had never been an issue for Natasha Romanoff.

Not when there was something she wanted on the other side. 

Plus, FRIDAY liked her for whatever reason, and the AI had yet to lock her out of this area and Natasha was willing to bet that it was the same now. 

Without hesitating, she placed her palm on the biometric scanner and watched as a green light slid over her fingerprints in a single wave, and then leaned forward for the retina scan that popped out of the wall next. When that was all complete, she stepped back and waited.

Except the door did not unlock like it had before.

“ _May I inquire as to your request for entrance, Miss Romanoff?_ ” FRIDAY’s voice floated around her. 

Natasha pursed her lips, “Tell Stark that if he doesn’t let me in this way then I’ll just find another way.”

When the AI didn’t instantly respond, Natasha’s gaze flicked upwards with the smallest pinch to her brows. She didn’t know if the billionaire could see her on his security feed right now, but she offered him a middle-fingered salute, just in case.

“ _Entrance granted_ ,” FRIDAY informed her a few seconds later and Natasha let her lips curl in triumph… And then FRIDAY continued. “ _You have five minutes and I have been instructed to inform you to… make it quick._ ” 

The smirk fell from her lips, but Natasha didn’t argue. She thanked FRIDAY and waited until she heard the mechanical sliding click of the door unlocking.

The former spy stared at it for a solid five seconds, not moving. Slowly, her eyes slid shut and she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs to capacity, finding that place in her mind, that safety behind the impenetrable wall. Once she was secure in there, green eyes flashed open and she reached for the door.

He was waiting for her.

Normally Natasha was used to having the upper hand and getting the jump on her victims, but not this one and not this time. He was pacing, eyes bright and sharp and locked on her like a big predator.

“Did she open it?” Loki asked the moment she came into sight. His pacing came to a stop near the glass wall he was enclosed in.

Natasha kept her face and voice perfectly calm. She lifted one quizzical brow. “Did who open what?” 

The god stared at her for a long moment and neither of them said a thing and then his face split into a sharp-edged grin. He nodded and lifted his dark brows in acknowledgement, a dark chuckle leaking from his chest.

“Do not play the fool with me, Spider. You know of what I speak. The mortal woman—Darcy,” his said, leaning closer, and his eyes burned. “Did she open the stone?”

“You knew all this time.”

“I suspected,” Loki clarified, and Natasha kept quiet. She had learned long ago that silence could be a tool more effective than any threat. It required patience and that was something she had in spades. Loki glanced at her and then slowly turned back around, carefully circling around his cell once more, hands clasped behind his back. “I take it she was successful,” his eyes flicked over and Natasha, again, said nothing. Loki grinned as though that was answer enough. He shook his head with a cluck of his tongue. “Brave woman. Spectacularly stupid, but still brave.”

For the briefest of moments, Natasha wasn’t sure whether he was speaking of Darcy or of her.

Loki circled completely around and then stopped and slanted a look at the former spy, tilting his head, his tone curious. “Who did she bring back?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Natasha evaded and took a step closer to the cell.

The raven-haired god’s gaze was a heavy thing and any trace of humor fled from his face like shadows skittering from a sudden beam of light. “Darcy had to make the choice herself for it to work.”

Natasha frowned slightly.

“Will she recover?”

A beat of silence.

When Loki finally spoke, every word dripped from his lips and they sounded like honey. “Oh, she will do _more_ than that. Tell me… has the stone started to heal her yet?”

* * *

It took her six minutes and thirty-two seconds, but who was counting?

Natasha emerged from the stairwell, her mind spinning as it often did after her conversations with the God of Mischief, and she took a moment to gather herself before entering the clinic. She still had questions, so many questions, but this was a start—it was what they needed to know. The rest would come.

The Med Bay was deathly silent when Natasha walked through it and worry pricked in the back of her mind, despite Loki’s words. She hurried her steps. At the end of the clinic there was a set of private rooms and only one of them was occupied.

Natasha made a beeline for it.

Her noiseless arrival gave her a moment to observe the room and the first thing Natasha’s eyes flew to was not the pale young woman on the bed but the massive boulder of a god hunched down in a chair beside her, fingers steepled just over his lips, as though he were in prayer. And maybe he was. Thor stared at Darcy with an intensity that was frightening, as though he were physically willing her to open her eyes with all the might of Asgard itself and something about the hard set of his body, the tense way he held himself, gave Natasha the distinct feeling that she was staring at a ticking time bomb.

If he exploded, like he looked on the verge of doing, Natasha wasn’t sure it was something any of them would be able to survive. 

On the other side of Darcy’s bed, Bruce was putting a defibrillator back onto the crash cart. Alarmed, Natasha’s gaze darted to the slow beeping monitor Darcy was hooked up to. Her pulse oximeter read at ninety percent and her heart rate was in the high fifties. 

“How is she?” The words were soft coming out of her mouth, hushed.

Bruce glanced up sharply from where he was getting the oxygen tube ready, his glasses caught the reflection of the overhead light. Before he could answer though, Thor simply rumbled out one word.

“ _Alive._ ”

He said nothing more and he did not turn his gaze away from Darcy. 

Bruce watched the god for a moment and the look he was giving the god said much more than any word could. Finally, Bruce broke away and turned to Natasha. His voice was very quiet. “She went into cardiac arrest when we arrived. I got out the defibrillator but…” he hesitated and again, looked to the God of Thunder before darting his gaze back to Natasha as she stood in the doorway. “Thor was able to restart her heart himself.”

Natasha turned and stared at Thor and to the untrained eye, one would think he hadn’t even registered what Bruce said, but the former Russian spy was anything but untrained and she saw his muscles string tighter than Clint’s bow. 

“I’m treating this like a lightning strike,” Bruce began again as he leaned down and gently placed an oxygen tube in Darcy’s nose. “She’s in critical condition. If her oxygen drops any lower, I’m going to have to put her on a ventilator. It’s hard to tell yet if the energy current from the stone entered her skull. If it did, she’ll have brain damage, or,” Bruce shook his head and held his hands up like he was at a loss, “this might turn into a coma. There could be paralysis—her right ear drum was blown out,” he pointed to said ear and Natasha could see the flash of bright red dripping into her unruly dark hair. “And all of this is only what we know initially.”

The room got very quiet after that and Natasha wet her lips, inhaling and choosing her next words carefully. “I spoke with Loki.”

This time, Thor turned his head and it was like a mountain rising out of the sea. 

“I went to see him just now. He knew what was going to happen, he knew it was Darcy,” Natasha eyed the God of Thunder warily as she shared the news. But there was no sudden glow, no electric static crackling in the air. Thor was deathly still, carved out of unyielding stone, and Natasha thought that was almost worse. She kept her voice even and calm and stared right at Thor, refusing to look away. “He… Loki said that the stone will heal her. He seems confident that she’s going to be alright.”

Thor didn’t say a word, but he searched her face, looking for the lie and Natasha almost told him to go find his brother to hear it for himself—she would not lie about this. She held his gaze long enough that he finally turned away and went back to staring at Darcy’s unconscious form. It was only then, only in peripheral, that the spy saw the mighty tower that was Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, start to sway as though everything was about to come tumbling down.

She knew Thor cared about Darcy, but in this moment, Natasha realized that Darcy was perhaps the last thing on this world holding the god together. 

And she didn’t want to know what he would become if he lost her.

“Thank you, Nat,” Bruce’s kind voice snapped her back to herself and Natasha tore her gaze from Thor. She nodded.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Bruce shook his head. “Not right now, but I’ll let you know.”

With that and one last glance at the woman in the bed, she stepped back out of the room, turning on her heel. 

And froze.

Entering the clinic was Steve and Barnes, both alert and clearly with one goal in mind. Steve’s eyes landed on Natasha and she saw the frantic edge there and it wasn’t her business what was going on between her Captain and Darcy but she also knew a volatile situation when she saw one—had been trained on how to navigate them.

Something instinctual told her to step in before those two barged into that room with Thor the way he was. 

“Is she in there?” Steve demanded more than he asked. “Is Darcy okay?”

Natasha eyed Steve as he drew closer and for a brief second, her gaze slid to Barnes (she would never in her life get used to calling _him_ that). His silvery blue eyes were guarded and a little wild around the edges and she imagined being in a clinic would never be something he would be comfortable with.

She could appreciate that, resembled it, even.

“One moment,” Natasha told both of them and held up her hand.

When they stopped in their tracks, she eyed them for a second longer before going back into Darcy’s room. Bruce was already watching her, brows lifted in question.

Natasha looked at Thor’s expansive back as he faced away from her, only watching Darcy. She wet her lips. “Steve and Barnes are here.” She swore she heard Thor’s teeth grind. Warily, she watched the god before flicking her eyes back to Bruce. “I know they’re here to see Darcy but Barnes should probably be checked out after… everything. We need as much information as we can get.”

“I agree,” Bruce nodded, an IV in his right hand. “I’ll get to them when I can. Have them go to one of the other rooms but tell them they’ll have to wait. Darcy is my top priority,” then Bruce looked at Thor and cleared his throat lightly, “She is both of our top priority. She took a lot of damage.”

“Of course.”

 _Steve will not be happy_ , Natasha thought with a grimace. He was a stubborn mule on the best of days and a flat-out pain in the ass when something didn’t go his way. _This should be fun._

Sighing softly, she moved to leave, stopping only when she heard Thor’s voice call after her. “Natasha?”

He had turned his head slightly, and now she caught the subtle glow in his eyes. When he spoke, his tone was soft, but she felt it across the room like a clap of thunder. 

“Close the door on your way out.”

* * *

“Don’t test me, Nat,” Steve ground out, his jaw clenched hard enough that she imagined it was white beneath his dark beard. “I want to see her. Move.”

“That’s not going to happen right now.”

Steve’s next words were slow and dangerously soft. “And if I make it an order?”

If she had not spent her entire life up to this point staring dangerous men in the face, she might have been frightened. As it were, she knew Steve—knew that when he felt backed into a corner and afraid that he lashed out. He was a survivor, like her.

She understood him and she wasn’t afraid of him.

The man just over his shoulder, however… _he_ was another story, but she had her reasons for that. But Barnes looked docile for all that Steve was riled up, still, she didn’t miss the way he naturally found every exit in the room and the array of regular tools that could easily be turned into weapons (she noticed all of them as well, but that was because he taught her to).

Shaking herself inwardly, she skimmed her eyes over Steve almost lazily.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I disobeyed a direct order from you,” Natasha drawled as she lifted a delicate brow, “and it won’t be the last.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. A metal hand was on his bicep, and she watched the gentle way it curled over the muscle there.

“Stevie, c’mon,” Barnes murmured quietly. He leaned around to gaze up at the blond. “We won’t be much help in there anyway. Not right now.”

After a long moment, Steve glanced over at him and seemed to inwardly struggle with the idea of leaving. And so, Natasha gave them an out.

“You can still stay in the clinic,” she told them and both men looked at her. She explained further, nodding at Barnes, “Banner wants you to wait in another room. After he is done with Darcy, he would like to run some tests, just to make sure everything is okay.”

Neither man said anything and then Steve gave Barnes a heavy look. They seemed to have a silent conversation and then Barnes was shaking his head with a soft shrug.

“I’m fine. It’s fine.”

Natasha took that at face value and motioned to a room two doors down from Darcy’s. “If you go wait in there, I’ll let Banner know where to find you.”

* * *

Consciousness came slowly, as though she were gradually reemerging after a dive into the depths of an ancient sea cavern. She floated up, up, up, and it was a dizzying, hazy thing, breaking through the surface. She had to fight for it, push for it, and everything _hurt_.

She needed to breathe—she couldn’t _breathe_.

“No, do not touch that,” a voice she instinctively trusted told her and there was a gentle but giant hand around her wrist, pulling her hand away from her face. “It is providing you with oxygen, Darcy.”

It all seemed to happen vaguely, as though she were trying to recall a story that a friend had told her long ago. Her eyes cracked open, dry and crusty like an antique book that had been sitting closed for too long. The light was blinding, and she flinched back from it, her muscles screaming in agony at the sudden movement.

A second later, the light disappeared and she distantly heard someone resettle themselves beside her. Darcy tried to swallow, but her throat was so damn dry, it got stuck in the process making her cough.

And oh, coughing was _hell_.

Hands were on her next, offering strength and helping her to sit up. A straw was pressed against her lips and there was a deep, rolling voice commanding her to drink slowly.

Chapped lips wrapped around the straw and at the first quenching taste of water, Darcy ignored the instruction and began to suck it down, desperate for the relief it brought.

Thor didn’t seem too pleased about that because he took it away a second later—of course that might have been because she went into another coughing fit. Hard to say.

And then something in her brain snapped awake.

Her eyes opened into narrow slits and she slowly blinked in the dark room. She was in a bed, sterilized white sheets were pooled around her waist, a scratchy nightgown covered her body, and there was a soft constant beeping that she instantly recognized as a heart rate monitor. Slowly, her gaze skimmed across her bed to the man sitting beside her. His face was visible in the soft glow of the machine beside her and Thor looked like he might cry if the brightness of his eyes was anything to go by.

“Thor?” Darcy rasped and her voice sounded like it had been tossed down a garbage disposal. Her throat felt _shredded_. Brows pinching together, she stared at the god, rasping out, “What happened?”

Thor took a long time to answer. He blinked rapidly and reached for her hand. As if he couldn’t help himself, he lifted her hand to his lips so he could brush a swift kiss over her knuckles. When he spoke, his voice was not quite shaking. “You were injured.”

Darcy frowned.

“How?”

“You do not remember?” He asked, looking fairly alarmed, and Darcy could only shake her head. His hand tightened slightly around hers and Thor inhaled, his next words careful and slow. “We believe you were sleepwalking, Darcy.”

She wracked her mind, but came up blank. “I’ve never done that before.” 

Thor’s smile was very tight.

“You left your quarters and came down to the labs,” the god paused here and locked eyes with her and seemed to brace himself. “You took the Soul Stone in your hand, Darcy.”

The words echoed through her head and hit her with the physical force of a gunshot. Darcy’s lips dropped open with the realization, the sudden remembrance, and the world seemed to be buzzing around her and even sitting down she felt dizzy.

She didn’t remember walking to the lab, she didn’t remember grabbing the stone, but she remembered the dream she had and the red and black abyss she was trapped in. She remembered the dark-haired man holding her hand and the orange glow in the sea of glass-like water at her feet.

Darcy remembered making a choice.

_The stone had to open._

“Whatever it takes,” she breathed out and then her eyes flashed to Thor’s, red-rimmed with unshed tears. “I remember now.”

Her heart was pounding in her ears and the machine she was hooked up to was beeping louder and faster as adrenaline coursed through her. Leaning up, forcibly ignoring the screaming ache in her muscles, her bones, her blood, she held her head in her hands. Her fingers tightened in her greasy hair and she forced herself to keep breathing.

Distantly, she felt Thor’s hand on her back, heard his soothing voice though she couldn’t understand the words he was saying. It felt like her chest was too tight and no matter how much she breathed in she couldn’t fill her lungs up enough.

“Was I,” she started and stopped, loosening her grip on her hair and running her fingers through it instead. Darcy looked up at Thor, blinking and wildly desperate, “Did I do it? You said I took the stone—did I open it?”

Her head felt fuzzy and she might pass out, but she needed to know.

Thor was staring at her, his eyes measuring and cautious. “Yes,” he told her at last, his voice very soft. “You were able to open the stone and pull from it the Captain’s Sergeant.”

_The Captain’s…?_

“Who is—”

Darcy stopped as her pain fogged mind finally caught up and it struck her. The dark-haired man from her dream, the man _Steve_ was always talking about, the man she had practically prayed to on the darkest nights along with Jane. The little star beside the moon. _Bucky_.

Wait. Darcy’s head snapped up, her eyes widening.

_Jane!_

She gasped and turned to Thor, frantically reaching for the god. He lunged forward to stop her from falling out of her bed and Darcy winced and groaned in pain but it didn’t stop her from croaking out a hoarse, horrified, “I’m _so_ sorry. Oh my god, Thor, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—didn’t _think_ , I was—I could have brought _Jane_ back and I didn’t. I don’t know what or why but maybe I could try agai—”

“Darcy,” Thor interrupted and the harshness there was not something she was used to. She froze, wide-eyed, staring at him, her chin wobbling in despair. Darcy watched his jaw clench, as though he were holding back some deep emotion. “Listen to me, you will not step foot near that stone again.”

Darcy blinked and shook her head, her face crumpling because he didn’t understand—she must have screwed up. Why did she bring _him_ back and not Jane? What kind of friend was she? 

“Thor,” she cried out, “I _have_ to—”

“ _It nearly cost you your life!_ ”

Darcy flinched at the sudden eruption and a single tear fell down her cheek landing on her thigh in a hot splash. 

“You did not see what I saw,” Thor continued, quieter now, but still hard as stone. “This is not a simple cut on your foot this time. I will not make this trade; it is not right.”

She had seen Thor angry before, but very rarely was it directed at her. Darcy’s gaze fell to the floor and with it, so did another tear. She swallowed wetly, still trying, because he didn’t _understand_. “But if I can open it, then, I should be okay? I feel okay? I’m tired, sore, and my chest is tight, but outside of that, I’m good. I promise. Just, please let me try. I—I can do something, Thor, finally—I can help. I can help _Jane_.”

Very slowly, Thor leaned back in his too-small chair and in the darkened room, Darcy held her breath as she watched an unnatural shadow pass over the god’s face. 

He looked _haunted_.

“I had to restart your heart with my own lightning,” Thor told her, almost casually and Darcy went very still. She stared at him and Thor brutally continued. “I will not watch your bones crack and your skin burn again. Not willingly. We will not court Death like this. Who is to say that the next time will not kill you? Your life is too precious to so easily cast aside. If you will not treat it in such a way, then I will.”

They stared at one another for a long time and then Darcy deflated, the pain in her body nothing compared to the shattering currently taking place in her chest.

“What am I supposed to do, then?” She asked, her voice so small and so lost.

Thor never got the chance to answer.

The door opened and Darcy winced at the light as it bled into the room, hitting her right in the face. A large hand immediately covered her eyes, blocking the sudden brightness and Darcy’s heart broke a little further because she knew that hand belonged to Thor.

She heard the door shut a moment later and then slowly, Thor drew his hand away and Darcy was blinking in the darkness once again. At the end of her bed, Bruce was holding a chart and smiling softly at her.

“You’re awake,” his gentle voice sounded delighted. “How are you feeling?”

Darcy avoided Thor’s heavy gaze and shrugged. “Pretty good,” she then paused and admitted, “I’m really sore.”

“I would expect so. It’s been nothing short of miraculous how quickly you’ve healed,” Bruce told her as he walked over to the machine next to her bed. He wrote down the numbers there on his chart.

“How long was I out?” Darcy squinted. 

“Thirty-seven hours.”

She blinked at that and then glanced at Thor. This time, her voice was softer, almost unsure, “Thor said my heart stopped?”

“It did,” Bruce answered for the silent god. Darcy thought about that, tried to register what they were saying in her mind, but it all seemed so impossible. “We were sure you would be in a coma, paralyzed, who knows what else. But… if what Loki said is true and the stone is helping you heal…” Darcy’s head snapped up at that, suddenly very alert.

Beside the bed, Thor shifted in his chair.

“Healed me?” She croaked out, her voice utterly ragged now. “The stone _healed_ me?”

“Yes,” Bruce smiled and then motioned to her ear. “Let’s have you lean back in bed again. I’d like to take a look at your eardrum.”

Darcy did as he asked (with assistance from Thor). Once she was settled, she looked up at Bruce with a frown, “What’s wrong with my eardrum?”

Bruce merely stared at her.

“It was broken.” 

Her lips dropped open. Bruce grabbed an otoscope and peeked in her ear canal; Darcy held very still. When she was a kid at a doctor’s appointment, this part always tickled and it was no different now. 

“Have you had any trouble hearing since you woke up?” Bruce asked as he inspected deeper.

“No.”

When he pulled back, he had a large grin once more and looked as close to flabbergasted as she had ever seen. “It looks good as new and so do your vitals—it’s a miracle, really.”

Her eyes flicked over to Thor and the god was staring off to the side, lips pressed tightly together. Darcy ignored him for the moment, but her mind was racing with questions. 

“Now a quick blood draw, just to check things over,” Bruce explained with a smile and Darcy numbly offered up her arm. 

It was an easy process and Bruce was obviously very practiced. Darcy watched him take away the dark vial of blood in fascination. 

“Are you hungry?”

She thought about that and her stomach churned at the idea of food. Darcy’s lips twisted.

“No.”

For the first time since he entered the room, Bruce frowned. He tapped his pen against his chart and hummed out, “I know you might not want to, but I’d like you to try to have something in a few hours.”

“Okay,” Darcy agreed softly and watched in silence as Bruce quickly gathered his things.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said as he reached the door. Darcy caught the lightning quick glance he shot at Thor before returning his gaze to her. His smile was tight around the edges. “Rest. If you feel tired, sleep,” Bruce nodded his chin at Thor then. “Don’t let him keep you awake.”

And with that, Bruce was gone. After the quiet click of the door, the two of them were enclosed in silence, outside of the beeping machines. Darcy was contemplative and she gave herself a few seconds before she slanted a glance at Thor.

“So… The stone healed me.”

Thor settled deeper into his chair and lifted his brow in a clear challenge. “Right after it nearly killed you.”

They stared at one another for a long time and then Darcy sighed. She didn’t want to fight with Thor, at least not right now. She was too tired for that. 

Darcy opened her mouth—

And then clicked it shut when someone knocked quietly on the door.

Her brows pinched together and she stared at in and then at Thor in question. The god’s face turned sour, like he had taken a large bite of a lemon, everything puckered, and Darcy nearly grinned at the unusual show of grumpiness.

“He does not waste time,” Thor bit out at last and Darcy blinked. Blue eyes flicked to her and they were utterly unreadable. Finally, Thor told her tersely, “You have visitors. They have been waiting for you to wake… Rather impatiently, I might add.”

Darcy shifted in her bed, sitting up a little. “Who?”

“Steven and the Sergeant, James.”

 _Oh_.

Her heart felt like it dropped down to her feet and when the monitor next to her beeped obnoxiously, Darcy glared at it. She bit her lip, hands twisting in her lap, anxiety rushing through her at just who was on the other side of that door, separated from her by mere wood.

“This is why I warned you about the Captain, Darcy. I did _not_ want to see that look on your face,” Thor whispered fiercely. “We will have much to speak of,” he caught her hands in his own and ducked down to capture her eyes. Thor’s gaze was earnest and his voice, when he spoke, was low and steady and made of unbendable iron. “But for now, if you do not wish to see them, they will not get a foot through that door. I _promise_ you this.”

 _Cat’s out of the bag_ , Darcy thought lamely. Her chest was squeezing tightly, and she wanted nothing more than to turn over and go back to sleep and pretend that she could just ignore this for the rest of eternity.

But that was impossible.

She knew Steve Rogers and if Darcy knew anything about him, she knew that she couldn’t hide forever.

But she could damn well try… in her own way.

Pulling the pulse oximeter off her finger, for privacy’s sake, Darcy nodded at the door. Her voice was oddly calm. “You can let them in.”

Thor didn’t look convinced.

Darcy’s eyes flashed to his and she shrugged, reaching up to adjust the oxygen tube and then nervously to touch her hair. Her face crumpled slightly in a wince, “It’s okay, Thor… I just—I look like a mess.”

“Nonsense,” Thor rumbled deeply, his tone full of affection. He unfolded his body and stood, smoothing his hand over her hair with the utmost gentleness. When he looked down at her, his eyes glittered like the night sky, “You are most beautiful. Stop your fretting.”

She almost believed him.

* * *

Darcy prepared herself for—well, she didn’t know what to prepare herself for, but she held herself in a guarded manner, even just sitting in her bed. She had raised the bed so that it folded upwards and she could rest more comfortably. Her thumb obsessively ran over the arrow buttons on the remote.

She stared hard at Thor’s wide back as he cracked open the door. He was saying something softly and she couldn’t quite make out what it was except for the trail end.

“—her eyes are sensitive to the light right now.”

There was a soft murmur of agreement on the other side and then with a final glance from the god, to which Darcy nodded jerkily, Thor stepped back.

Their silhouettes were the first thing Darcy registered against the harsh light behind them. Tall and broad and powerful but when Thor shut the door, blocking out the lights, it was Steve’s face, crunched in concern, illuminated by the glow from the machines that caught her attention and held it. 

“Darcy,” Steve broke, finally, and rushed forward. He looked like he wanted to reach for her but wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands, so he stopped, awkwardly and held them at his sides. “Bruce said you were awake and talking. Are you… okay?”

Steve trailed off, voice choked in his throat by something Darcy couldn’t put a name to. Her heart lurched in her chest as she stared up at him and Darcy slowly closed her hand into a fist. It was by sheer will alone that she stayed utterly still and completely silent.

Steve’s intelligent eyes dropped to her fist and then flicked back up to her face and he looked hurt and confused all at once and she clenched her jaw. 

“You scared the hell out of me,” Steve admitted with a shake of his head, his voice very quiet. “I don’t even know what to say.”

_It was a lot easier to make my choice to give you up when you weren't standing in front of me looking at me like that._

A beat of silence and Darcy, for the life of her, could not unclench her jaw, even as her mind raced.

And then—

“How about you introduce us, punk?”

Her eyes flew to the man that was all but forgotten (how the hell could she forget him?). His back was pressed against the door, as though trying to be respectful of her space, space he wasn’t sure was welcome in. Though his words were for Steve, his eyes were locked on Darcy and now that she was staring into them, she couldn’t look away.

 _She knew him._ The thought flit through her mind like the wings of a butterfly. 

Darcy didn’t know how, but she did.

For all that Steve was golden and light and consuming, burning, _warmth_ … James Buchanan Barnes was the cool night wind, ghosting over her skin like velvet. Goosebumps lifted on her arms and Darcy still could not look away.

She barely registered Steve’s head whipping back and forth between the two of them, but she heard his voice loud and clear when he said—

“Buck, this is Darcy Lewis. Darcy… meet Bucky Barnes.”

As if that was permission, Bucky stepped forward, deeper into the room and his presence filled the space and Darcy fought hard to simply breathe. 

Kind eyes stared down at her and Darcy was lost in them, feeling as though something very important was happening but she couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Instead, she exhaled out in the quietest voice, “Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

His reaction to that simple sentence was visceral.

“I know your voice,” Bucky blurted out in a soft, wondering tone and his expression transforming into nothing short of awe. “I heard it in my dreams. You called to me when I was wandering in the darkness and there was no end to it. It was _your_ voice I heard,” he wet his lips and then he laughed, lightly, like he couldn't quite believe what he was looking at or saying. “You woke me up.”

“How?” Darcy asked, breaking the hush that had fallen over the room at Bucky’s declaration.

“I don’t know how these things work,” Bucky said with a boyish kind of marvel, his eyes still holding hers. “But I would know your voice anywhere.”

He reached for her hand next and knelt next to her bed so that he wasn’t looming over her. Bucky wrapped her hand in both of his and Darcy felt the contrast sharply from the cool smoothness of his left hand to the calloused warmth of his right. He smiled at her, sweet and true and it struck Darcy then just how fucking beautiful this man was. 

“Thank you, Darcy,” he murmured, and she heard his heart in every syllable, “for what you did.”

Darcy stared at Bucky in no small amount of shock. 

_No wonder Steve is in love with this man._

Her world spun at that thought, ripping her from the moment, and it was like she was being thrown from a great height and this time there was no one to catch her at the bottom. Her eyes flew up to the blond man she had all but foolishly fallen head over heels for and there was something in Steve’s eyes as he stared at Bucky that was heart-wrenching. Steve _loved_ this man and he loved Steve, but it was more than love—they were a goddamn fairytale and it was clear as day then that she had somehow gone and rammed herself into something that she had no business being a part of. 

And then it hit her, the man holding her hand, being so nice and so kind… he was quite possibly the world’s most deadly assassin and she had nearly fucked his soul mate. 

Her. 

Darcy. 

Regular, insignificant, breakable human.

From the way Bucky treated her with such tenderness, she knew Steve hadn’t told him. She wondered, then, if he would tell Bucky at all… or if Steve was too ashamed to admit it now that Bucky was back in his life.

_Fuck. Oh, fuck._

Darcy swallowed, tried to swallow, but there was a quickly filling hot lump lodged in her throat and all she could do was nod jerkily at Bucky, her lips pressing hard together.

She could tell Bucky wanted to say something more by the look on his face, but she was saved from it when her world erupted into sudden pain.

Grunting like she had been punched in the gut, Darcy lurched forward in her bed as the muscles in both of her legs tried to crumple into tiny wads and in the process tear themselves loose from her bones. Her eyes screwed shut and she hoarsely cried out, reaching for something, anything.

“Move!” Thor shouted and Darcy didn’t see what happened, but she knew the god must have shoved someone out of the way by the following crash.

Darcy tried to yell but her voice was nearly all screamed out and her throat felt like it was shredded raw and bloody, but she still tried to scream even if the noises were hollow and bare boned. The sheet was thrown back from her body and Darcy’s legs were shaking terribly, uncontrollably, curling this way and that.

“Thor, is she okay?” That was Steve, a panicked Steve.

No, she wasn’t _okay_. Everything hurt. Her muscles burned; her bones ached.

“Her body is still adjusting.”

Firm hands were on her legs, grasping her by the ankles and running up and down her calves, stretching them out almost mercilessly. “ _Ow, ow, ow, ow—_ ”

“Adjusting to _what?_ ” 

“We are still finding out. You think what she did came without a cost?” Came Thor’s venomous reply and her chest began to burn as tears leaked out of her eyes. She didn’t want to think about any of that right now, not when her legs were cramping so goddamn tight. “Get that heart rate monitor back on her.”

More hands on her and then—

“Oxygen is normal,” came a calm, steady reply.

_Bucky?_

Darcy sucked in a breath as Thor and whoever the hell else was copying his movements, kneading at the muscles in her legs, encouraging them to ease, to calm. She whimpered out, “’M’okay. S’just a cramp.”

Thankfully, she kept her eyes shut so she didn’t have to see the chorus of disapproving looks she imagined she was receiving, given the sudden silence from the three men.

“She did this a few times while she was still unconscious,” Thor explained quietly. “Her muscles seem to severely contract in increments, we are not sure why or when it will happen but the best we can do for her is to massage it out, like so.”

Darcy relaxed slightly under the hands moving up and down her legs. What Thor said was right, but it was still a slow process. She had yet to be able to bring herself to open her eyes though. 

When the worst seemed to be over, Darcy felt a hand brush over the top of her head and in reaction (because she knew who that was, recognized his touch), stiffened further. When she whimpered again, Steve forced her fingers to uncurl from their fist, telling her quietly, “Hold onto my hand if it helps.”

She did.

Whether that was because it helped or for reasons she was too afraid to name, Darcy gripped his hand in hers, her nails biting into his skin. Despite the fact that she was probably leaving bruises, Steve’s thumb kept up a soft, slow sweep over the inside of her wrist.

Something about that made her chest crack open.

_No, no, no._

Darcy had already made her choice. Her heart needed to get with the _fucking_ program.

“Sorry,” her lips trembled as she whispered the word. Her eyes blinked open, lashes clumping together wetly, and half of Darcy’s face was turned into the pillow beneath her. But Steve was right there, squatting down, his perfect face so fucking close to hers and he was staring at her in such open concern.

“What are you sorry for?” He whispered back, leaning forward slightly and Darcy wanted to tell him to stop, to please not come any closer, she couldn’t take it. She didn’t want to know what was right in front of her, not when she already made up her mind. Steve’s brows pinched and lifted in the middle, “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Darcy.”

She stared at him, openly, telling him with her eyes all the reasons why she should be sorry (and there were many of them). He merely stared back, shaking his head slightly, full lips parting open.

“Thank you, James,” Thor’s voice shook Darcy and it was only then that she realized her legs had stopped cramping completely. 

Letting out a shaky breath, she turned her head, and looked over her shoulder. Bucky was straightening up and as he did he discreetly tugged the nightgown she wore to a more polite length before covering her legs with the sheet once more.

Fire flooded her cheeks.

“I used to have a similar issue,” Bucky mentioned off-handedly to Thor, but she caught the way his gaze flickered over to her and Steve.

Darcy released Steve’s hand like it burned her. She pushed him away and sat up, her skin slicked with sweat and she was pretty sure she smelled awful.

_Great, just what I need._

A pair of eyes were burrowing into the side of her face and Darcy ignored Steve with all of her might. There was a lot of confusing shit going down right now and the last thing she needed was to get pulled back into his baby blues.

The door opened and she gasped, her nerves absolutely frayed.

Bruce stood in the doorway, chart back in his hand. He eyed them all, keen gaze not missing a thing. “Isn’t this quite the crowd?”

“She had another episode,” Thor informed him right away and Bruce frowned slightly. 

“Looks like we should run some more tests, then.”

Thor nodded firmly and then not-so-subtly eyed the two super soldiers. “And Darcy needs rest.”

Steve looked like he wanted to object, but Bucky made the choice for him and Darcy tried not to react to the way he walked over and smoothly ran his hand over the other man’s lower back. A familiar gesture, one meant to comfort.

“C’mon, Stevie,” Bucky encouraged quietly and Darcy tried not to react at the nickname that slipped. “Let’s go and let the lady sleep.”

Running his tongue over his teeth, Steve finally nodded, casting one last look at Darcy—to which she refused to acknowledge. The Captain then turned and walked out the door.

Bucky followed, an odd look on his face. He paused in the doorway, hand gripping the doorframe. His eyes were on Darcy and Darcy alone. The corner of his lips tipped upward.

“I’m glad we finally met.”

* * *

No more visitors came after that, except for Thor, but Thor was practically living in the room with her so it didn’t really count.

Bruce did bring her the tiniest bowl of Skittles one day though before a check-up, a get well soon gift, he told her, and it was the first time since she woke up that Darcy outright laughed. She didn’t need to ask who offered it and she would have to remember to tell Groot how generous he was being.

Aside from her Skittles, if it were any other time, she might have been a bit hurt over the lack of people checking in, but as it was, Darcy was immensely grateful for the privacy allowing her to process the sudden changes. Most of her time was spent sleeping. They found nothing unusual in her blood, no answers for her sudden muscle cramps (which were often and hurt like a fucking bitch), and no clear medical proof that the stone had healed her. There was no change to her DNA, no oddities in any scans she underwent, nothing.

It just… healed her.

Mostly. 

The cramps were the only exception. Outside of that, Darcy was able to eat soon enough and two days later was even released from the clinic (still with regular required check-ups). She moved into Thor’s room on both his and Bruce’s request, so that someone could keep an eye on her.

Steve and Bucky were no where to be seen and Darcy’s heart didn’t have the capacity to think much further on that matter. She was sure they had a lot to catch up on…

Again, she didn’t want to think about any of it.

The first thing Darcy did when she was released was take a long, steamy bubble bath. It helped the remaining soreness from her muscle cramps immensely and in general was a calming activity for Darcy. 

Or at least it would be if it weren’t for the obnoxious god checking in on her every ten minutes.

“Darcy?” He knocked on the bathroom door and she rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

“I’m still alive.”

Thor paused on the other side and she imagined the glower on his face. “It is unlocked, yes?”

“Yes, Thor.” She droned out. That was their deal, she could take the bath if she left the door unlocked in case she had another episode. 

“Good,” Thor told her awkwardly and Darcy grinned.

“You know, I think we should change your name from the God of Thunder to the God of Mother Hens,” she teased.

A beat of silence.

“I would prefer to make it the God of Cockerels.”

Darcy barked out a laugh, her voice still raspier than usual. She lifted her arms out of the bath and water fell from her skin like a rainstorm as she offered Thor a slow clap. “Well played, Big Guy.”

Thor said nothing after that and Darcy leaned back in the tub once more, closing her eyes and breathing in the thick steam rising from the water. She had almost fallen asleep when there was another knock on the door.

She groaned loudly.

“Thor, please, _please_ let me take this bath in peace. I’ll call if I need help.”

“My apologies, Darcy, but they have called a meeting and your presence is requested,” Thor told her, and she didn’t like the hesitant tone to his voice.

“A meeting?” She asked and then clarified, “About the stone?”

“Yes… My brother will also be there.”

Darcy grimaced. “Okay, um, I’m going to wash my hair first, if that’s okay?”

“Of course. I am here if you need assistance.”

Her eyes went wide and she ducked down in the bath until the water touched her chin. “Yeah, uhh, _no_. I’m good, Big Guy. So good. Very good.”

Also, very naked, but she didn’t need to clarify that. She and Jane had learned early on that nudity didn’t faze Thor very much. After all, Darcy would never forget the time that Thor waltzed out of Jane's bedroom without a stitch of clothing early on in their friendship and Jane had screeched and covered his bits with a large frying pan subsequently nailing the god right in the balls.

He may have learned a thing or two about covering up after that.

Giggling to herself, Darcy wondered if his name really should be changed to the God of Cockerels.

She was still giggling as she plugged her nose and ducked her head under water.

* * *

“Why her? No offense, but why did the stone choose her?”

Darcy had been staring resolutely at the table in front of her, rubbing the pad of her finger over the smooth surface. Her other hand was wrapped around a half empty coffee mug whose warmth was quickly fading. But at that question, her eyes snapped up.

“The infinity stones cannot be manipulated,” Loki explained to Clint as though he were speaking to a child and absently, Darcy supposed that was true. To Thor and Loki, all of them were children—even the hundred-year-old super soldiers she was studiously ignoring. “They choose who they wish, you cannot force it upon them. The Soul Stone in particular is… finicky. It chooses—”

“I swear to god if you sit there and tell me that the wand chooses the wizard, I will lose my mind.”

Stunned silence answered her and Darcy blinked, not realizing the words she had been thinking jumped, quite literally, out of her mouth.

Across the table, Steve snorted.

“I’m afraid you’ve already lost it,” Loki gave her an odd look. “We are not speaking of wizards here.”

Her face heated under the heavy gaze of every person in that room and with a grimace she lifted her mug and gulped down a mouthful of coffee. She swiped her hand over her lips when she was done muttering out, “Awesome."

Every seat in the conference room was taken and then some. Bodies lined the walls and there had been constant conversation flowing and too many eyes on her for comfort. She and Thor had been the last to arrive and she didn’t miss the fact that they both had reserved seats at the table. It was a stunning difference from her and the teenagers squatting outside the door to spy on a meeting they weren't invited to.

Thor was on her right and Natasha on her left but directly across from her was Steve and his gaze was like a laser, branding her flesh until she was shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

Okay, she had also outright refused to acknowledge him or Bucky's greetings and that might have added to the heat in the blond Captain’s eyes.

“If she were to try to open the stone again, would it have the exact same effect on her physically?” Bruce wondered and beside the scientist, Stark was clicking a pen incessantly.

Natasha frowned at that question and then tilted her head to the blond woman at the head of the table. “Carol, you came into contact with an infinity stone in somewhat of a similar manner. What about your experience?”

With a start, Darcy realized that she had nearly forgotten Carol’s story, how she got her powers. The woman in question had her chin resting on her fist in thought. With a sigh, she lowered her arm and tapped her fingers on the table.

“My experience and circumstances were very different from Darcy’s. I don’t remember much, but I know the initial contact was… excruciating.” Warm brown eyes slid shut as though she felt some phantom pain and then they shot open. “But now? Now… it’s a part of me.”

She looked at Darcy with something akin to compassion and Darcy returned the look with a half smile.

“Each stone is different,” Loki told them. “Jane carried one within her for some time as well,” next to Darcy, Thor tapped his fingers in three quick beats and said nothing. The raven-haired god eyed Thor for a moment before he continued, “Regardless, we are speaking of something that carries an infinite amount of power and energy. Even if it gets easier for her in time, it will never be _easy_.”

“But it will get better?” Clint urged and at the opposite end of the table, Stark stood suddenly from his seat. He clicked a pen in his hand and slowly strolled around the table until he was directly behind Steve and Bucky.

Darcy’s eyes had followed his movements and even though the billionaire had locked his dark gaze on her, it was a struggle not to let her eyes flit down to the burning stare Steve was giving her.

As if he was physically willing her to look at him.

She wouldn’t.

“We’re not the ones who had our insides turned into soup,” Tony told the room as a whole and Darcy's fingers tightened around her mug as she winced involuntarily at his words. “I think the only person in here who has the right to decide anything about the stone and what is done is Darcy herself.”

The room went silent.

Darcy started and then stared at Stark in open shock. “Thank you.”

Stark nodded and there was something swimming behind his eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t the Dark Lord incarnate after all…

“How long have you heard the stone call to you?” Blinking, Darcy swiveled in her seat and turned to Loki who sat just on the other side of Thor. She remembered the first time he asked her that and the way he grinned at her now, she knew he did, too. “Answer honestly.”

She grit her teeth, eyes dropping to her lap. “Since the first night you showed it to us all. That’s when I… started having dreams and heard the stone say my name.”

Next to her, Thor folded his arms across his thick chest and she knew he was barely restraining himself from saying something.

Darcy didn’t even _want_ to take a chance and glance up to see the look Steve’s face.

“It’s just as I thought,” Loki’s words slid over the room. “You are a stone keeper.”

Her eyes shot back to the god’s. She frowned. “Stone keeper?”

“The stones can bond themselves to a person, a host. Specifically, the Soul Stone. It bonds most strongly with a soul that is…” he paused here and despite his words, his smile became wicked. “Pure, honest, untainted, filled with faith and hope. It must have searched the room rather quickly and found one that best suited its appetite. From that it latched on to… feed.” Darcy blanched at that and Loki’s eyes burned into hers. “I believe it has attached itself to your soul and as long as it can feed off of you, you have the access to open and close it.”

The room fell quiet and she could hear a pin drop, until—

“She’s the ignition.”

Darcy’s gaze flew to Stark’s and he was clicking his pen again, in a faster succession this time, eyes staring off to the side in thought. Then, like a rubber band stretched too far, he snapped back and pointed the pen at her. 

“Follow me for a second. The stone is the engine, the power to move the vehicle. An ignition system is needed to spark an electrode to a high enough temperature to ignite a fuel-air mixture that will power up an engine or... kill it. Darcy being bonded to the Soul Stone makes her the ignition, she provides the spark. Through her it can be powered up or shut down completely."

After a moment, Loki nodded in acceptance. “Yes, I’d say that’s a fair example.”

“Since we’re talking cars here,” Darcy grimaced as a thought struck her, “what about when I run out of gas, if—if I can’t ‘feed’ it anymore?”

Loki’s eyes did not shimmer with his usual mischief and mirth this time, something changed. Something in the air shifted between them and when it did, Darcy knew what his answer would be before the words left his mouth.

“You will die.”

Across the room, a coffee mug shattered. Darcy yelped unintentionally, jumping in her seat, eyes flashing to Steve, but he was looking down at the broken mug in his hand like it had bit him.

“Shit,” he cursed softly sliding his rolling chair back to avoid the flow of hot liquid. Clint produced a handful of napkins while Bucky went about picking up the broken pieces of ceramic like this was an everyday occurrence. 

Darcy watched; eyes wide as the three men mopped up the mess. Bucky murmured something to Steve under his breath and Steve was nodding, glancing down at his hand. Stark wandered over with a small trash can, holding it out while looking very put upon by the simple action.

Her leg jiggled nervously and only stopped when Thor’s warm palm absently covered her knee.

“Can we sever her connection to the stone?" Thor asked, his voice rolling over them all.

Loki slanted a look at his brother. “That would be the only way to stop her death.”

Thor straightened, his hand leaving her knee.

“How can we do it?”

“That is where my knowledge comes to an end, brother,” Loki admitted after a long moment, as though the words were sour on his tongue. “I do not know.”

“I don't understand, I thought the stone healed her,” Bruce was shaking his head, staring at Loki as though the god had given _him_ the death sentence and not Darcy. 

It was almost sweet.

“And it will continue to do so, _physically_ ,” Loki emphasized. “But it will begin to weigh her down in ways none of us cannot possible imagine.” His voice became deeper here, softer, a warning. His gaze drifted far off, as though trapped. “It will eventually haunt her every thought until she goes mad.”

For a long time, Darcy just stared at Loki and she wondered if that was what happened to him. 

She swallowed wetly, “Will my opening the stone again speed up the process?”

It took him a moment and a nudge from Thor, but Loki eventually slid his gaze back to her and shook his head.

“There is no telling.”

Finger tapped out a harsh drumbeat on the table and Steve shifted in his now coffee-free seat. When he spoke, his voice was hard and unforgiving. “All of this would have been really helpful to know earlier, Loki.”

“As I told your teammate previously,” green eyes flashed behind Darcy to Natasha with surprising speed and though Loki was speaking to Steve, he did not turn his gaze away from the former spy. “Darcy had to come to the decision herself with no outside influence. Otherwise, it would not be a sacrifice.”

Those words rang in her ears and in a flash, all Darcy could see was herself sobbing out by the tree line, wishing Jane was back, sealing away her heart, and coming to the utter conclusion that the stone had to open. 

“Whatever it takes.”

The room turned to look at her as one when those words left her mouth and Darcy didn’t explain any further, she just sighed, resigned and completely exhausted.

Across from her, Steve’s voice echoed through the place like a judge’s gavel.

“No one is making a decision for the next forty-eight hours. We need time to think…” Steve paused and Darcy made the mistake of lifting her eyes from the table to his. Flames licked at her skin as he stared at her, his eyes burning, and the next words of his mouth were to her and her alone. “We need to talk things through.”

_Well, shit. So much for hiding._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of shit is happening and about to happen. I've got the second arc plotted out and fine tuned and my god, part of me wonders if I'll be able to pull this off. GO BIG OR GO HOME. Also, don’t worry, we will start seeing more of Bucky very soon. I’ve missed that troublemaker ;)
> 
> Thank you to all my fabulous readers for your patience and faith in me. EEEEEK. I'M PUMPED.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/)! We have lots of fun there, you’ll get sneak peeks into the upcoming chapter for the week and random manips.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to Angst Town. I hope you enjoy your stay.

The window was large and open, and he stood in front of it, alone. 

A chill was coming off the glass, wafting over his skin like growing ivy, crawling up his neck. Phantom tendrils of frost etched their way up the length of his throat and Steve inhaled slowly through his nose, his wide chest expanding. A small but insistent voice that sounded eerily similar to Sam Wilson reminded him that this wasn’t the ice, he wasn’t in the ice, not anymore. He fought back the panic at the edge of his mind, trying to gain ground that had been hard won, ground that he had earned back for himself. 

In the years on the run after his fight with Tony, after he watched Bucky go back under in Wakanda, after he deconstructed everything he thought he was—everything he thought he had bled for, Sam had spent more than a few nights talking Steve down from his panic attacks. They weren’t like Bucky’s episodes but the sudden onset of them was enough to scare the hell out of Steve. Sam had given a name to it— _post traumatic stress disorder_ —and taught Steve how to ground himself, how to think through it, how to take back control. The panic attacks were almost always physically triggered by the cold (he hated the cold, would always _motherfucking hate it_ ). As for the other triggers, those were harder to pin down. 

But not tonight. Tonight, Steve knew exactly what was bringing this on and this time, he wasn’t sure there was any trick in the book that could make this go away.

Bucky was back. 

Bucky was back but they were still at war (they were _always_ at war).

Bucky was back but what if he lost him again? 

Bucky was back but at what cost?

It was a miracle Bucky was back, a goddamn bona fide miracle. Steve knew that now, would defend it until his dying breath, but—

_You think what she did came without a cost?_

Thor’s question had been echoing in the chambers of his mind, ricocheting in his blood since the moment the god had uttered them in his rage. And that was the thing, wasn't it? Steve had thought he was prepared to pay the price but he had no idea the currency would come in the form of Darcy.

Darcy who was soft and gentle and didn’t belong within a thousand leagues of a war, Darcy who was idealistic and wanted to save lives without taking any in return (and hell if he didn’t see the irony of that old conversation staring him right in the goddamn face), Darcy who had slipped under his skin and grabbed him by the heartstrings and she didn’t even know it.

Bucky was back but Darcy was going to die.

Why was he always finding one to lose another? Why was it always like this?

Dread sat in the center of Steve’s stomach like a cold stone, dragging him deeper and deeper until his throat closed completely.

Back in the War, Steve had seen men with shellshock shaking like dying autumn leaves in the trenches, faces bone white beneath their filthy helmets, air locked in their chest, eyes wide in unseen terror. He had watched them with an empathetic gaze but never really understood what it felt like to live inside of skin that didn’t always listen to you.

He did now and he was so goddamn afraid. 

Steve didn’t turn around when the bathroom door opened behind him. He didn’t turn when light spilled into the darkened room for a brief moment before being clicked off. He was frozen stiff, trapped, unable to move, and so fucking _cold_. 

The approaching steps never made a sound, they never would, but soon hands slid around his middle, firm and steady, one splashed with crisscross scars, the other the smooth color of mercury. These were hands that had killed for him, had torn at his skin and drawn blood from him. They were strong enough to hold him and not many were, but he was. 

Bucky always was. 

Gradually, Steve defrosted. His throat opened and his eyes closed and his muscles and tendons inch by inch released their tension until he was simply letting himself be held. 

A chin hooked over his shoulder, the stubble scratching at his skin. “You okay, Steve?”

“Mm,” Steve hummed out, not quite ready to use words yet. 

“You’re brooding,” Bucky prodded. His skin was warm at Steve’s back, like he had been baking in the sun and Steve wanted to lean further into him. “You gonna tell me or do I have to drag it out of you?”

When Steve said nothing, Bucky caught his earlobe in between his teeth and tugged.

Steve flinched.

“Quit it, jerk,” he grumbled with no real venom.

Bucky’s chuckle was like silk in Steve’s ear but he said nothing more and soon the dark-haired man was swaying them slightly, as if he heard music that couldn’t quite reach Steve’s ears. Above them, the pale yellow moon was tucked away in the velvet sky. Steve watched it as Bucky rocked them slowly back and forth, his mind a million miles away. 

_God’s thumbnail_ , his mother used to call it, and now that Steve thought about it, he figured she was right. That’s exactly what it was. What else could explain Bucky’s return but divinity?

The moon reflected in his eyes like a fire burning behind thick blue glacier walls and he felt it, then. It was sudden, the swelling in his heart, and he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.

“I love you.”

The words were true. Truer than anything he had ever said before.

It was not shouted from the rooftops; it was not written across the sky. The words were small and quiet but they filled all of the empty places inside of him until he thought he was floating high enough that he could touch God’s thumbnail himself.

Lips press against his shoulder and though Bucky didn’t say the words, Steve heard them echo back in the softness of Bucky’s touch and, _fuck_ , he wanted to pause and live in this moment, right here, right now. He wanted to bask in it, he wanted the slowness, the sweetness, the intoxication. 

Steve didn’t think he would ever lose his wonder over the fact that Bucky was back—in fact, he hoped he never would. It was a balm on a wound that could finally, _finally_ start to heal.

Except that they were at war and there was no time for healing in war. 

Steve’s eyes snapped open. He stared ahead, brows pulling together, seeing nothing as the cold sunk back under his skin and wrapped around his bones. He lifted his hand to rest over the top of Bucky’s as his heart thumped loudly in his chest, wrenching this way and that. Calloused fingertips drew invisible patterns over the veins on the back of Bucky’s hand.

“Is it always going to be like this?”

Bucky stopped swaying. “What do you mean? Like what?” 

Steve’s breath shook as it escaped his lips, “I’m tired, Buck.”

And there it was.

The team hadn’t said anything since Bucky returned, giving them their privacy, but Steve knew they made assumptions. If only they knew that the hours and hours the two of them had spent locked away in Steve’s room were taken up mostly by Steve’s utter inability to keep his eyes open now that Bucky was safe. They hadn’t even done much more than kiss before Bucky pulled away, took one look at him and ushered him under the covers.

Steve was tired, he was tired in his _bones_. It had been over a month since Bucky had died and since then, Steve hadn’t slept more than four hours per week. Four fucking hours. He was running on fumes provided by the serum alone. It made him twitchy, his edges sharp and jagged, and Bucky was having none of that.

There was something to be said about the fact that Bucky had him out like a light in thirty seconds flat. Sarah Rogers had always said that the Barnes boy had witchcraft in his blood to which Buck would grin and happily tell her she was right, it was passed down from his grandmother's mother. Steve had finally almost a hundred years later come to the conclusion that maybe he did, maybe he really fucking did.

“Believe it or not,” Bucky started and there was a sigh lingering in his words, “I’m just as tired as you.”

There was a long moment of silence and then Steve swallowed; it was a wet, hollow sound. “It’s like we’ve got no _time_. We never have any time. There’s always something looming over us and I just…”

He shook his head, the words escaping him completely.

“There’s always gonna be war, that’s just the world we’re in,” Bucky tucked his chin back over Steve’s shoulder like it belonged there. “Doesn’t change nothin'. It doesn't change how I feel, if anything, the fires of all the wars we’ve seen have branded you like a seal on skin,” Bucky’s right hand skimmed up Steve’s chest to rest over his heart. As if answering a call, Steve’s heart thumped an extra beat. The dark-haired man tipped his head so he could get a look at Steve’s profile. “What was that thing the priest used to say? About love—love and death? It was the only thing I ever remembered from when your Ma would drag us to Mass.”

Steve slanted an unimpressed look at him. “My mother dragged _you_. I liked Mass, still do.”

“I know you do,” Bucky told him with an easy grin, like he expected nothing less and shook him a little. “C’mon Steve, what was it?”

His chin dropped to his chest and Steve squinted at the ground. “If it’s the one thing you remember, then why do you need me to say it? You really want me reciting poetry?”

“I like hearing it from your voice.”

“Sap,” Steve teased with an affectionate grin and then fell quiet. His eyes lifted back to the moon and though Bucky’s arms were wrapped around him, though Bucky had been wrapped around his heart for as long as he could remember, it was Darcy he saw as he softly recited, “‘ _Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy demanding as the grave_.’”

“That’s it,” from the dreamy quality of Bucky’s voice, Steve didn’t have to look to know that the other man’s eyes were closed as though the words themselves were bread cooking in an oven, bread that only Bucky could smell.

Slowly, Bucky released his hold on Steve and walked around until he was between him and the window. He stared up into Steve’s face and there was something soft there that could only come from brokenness. Bucky cupped the sides of his neck, thumbs stroking over his jumping pulse, and there was no tremor in his hands, no hesitation, no regret. 

When Bucky spoke, his voice was warm and low and it was the only thing that kept Steve on his feet because the way Bucky looked at him then, it was a holy thing and Christ knows Steve wanted to fall to his knees. 

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, punk. Even if we don’t have much of it, time doesn’t mean much to me anymore. I’ll be loving you for my whole life anyway. Hell, I’ve loved you with my death. I can’t stop it, Steve. No matter how hard Hydra tried to erase you—and they tried to erase you, oh god, they tried. Every time they got close, I’d find a way to carve out the shape of your name into the meat of my heart, the white of my bones,” Bucky bared his teeth here and it was like a wolf, “ _again_ and _again_.” He paused and darted forward, kissing him hard and almost vicious. Pulling away, Steve felt the puff of hot breath as Bucky whispered out, “This road you and I are on? We were made to walk it and we will always find each other.”

Steve’s eyes were closed, and his heart was clenched into a fist in his chest. “Until the end of the line?”

“That’s right,” Bucky nodded and pressed his lips to his again, kissing him this time as though the world wasn’t ending, as though they had all the time in the goddamn universe to simply kiss and kiss and kiss. “I’m yours and you’re mine.”

* * *

A different kind of exhaustion surrounded Steve like a heavy blanket. His skin was sticky and sweaty and he was sated in the deepest way. Sprawled out on the bed, Steve had almost slipped into sleep when there was a sudden pinch of teeth in the soft skin right below his belly button.

Grunting in surprise, Steve blearily squinted down at the madman lying between his legs who had utterly unraveled him less than half an hour ago.

“You rang?” Steve rumbled with a half tilt of his lips. Bucky watched him and then gave him a strange smile and there was something behind it, something unreadable and it made Steve pause, even blissed out as he was. “What is it, Buck?”

The dark-haired man folded his arms over Steve’s stomach and rested his chin atop them. 

“So,” Bucky started, his voice light and easy, “when were you going to tell me about you and Darcy?”

For a second, Steve swore that his heart stopped.

Bucky’s took his hesitation and his eyes darted down and he nodded his chin, pointing at something on Steve’s neck. “That hickey on your collarbone.”

Frowning harshly, Steve glancing down and saw nothing of the like. 

“There’s no—”

“Yeah, but you looked though.”

Steve’s head snapped up and his mouth dropped open in shock before his eyes narrowed and he hissed out, “ _Asshole_.”

Bucky snickered. “I’ve always been an asshole, we both know that and nothing is going to change it. But Steve, you’re not exactly a subtle man and I’ve been rather patient, I think,” after a moment Bucky’s laughter faded, as did his smile and for the life of him, Steve couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Tell me about her.”

_Tell me about her._

The words were heavy enough that they could hold bricks.

His chest rose as he inhaled and there were words on the tip of Steve’s tongue and then they fell away and the air locked in his lungs because here they were talking about the woman who brought Bucky back at the price of her own life. Steve’s eyes screwed shut and he willed his heart to stop sprinting. As if he was aware of Steve’s internal struggle, Bucky pressed a sweet kiss to his stomach before resting his cheek against the muscle there. 

Bucky stared up at Steve with absolute patience of a saint while he searched for the words.

“You know, she asked me to tell her about _you_ in the beginning,” Steve started with a slight curl to his lips. 

Bucky’s brows lifted in response. “Did she?”

Slowly, Steve bit his lower lip and nodded. He thought back to that night in the safehouse kitchen where neither of them got a wink of sleep and how it was the first night since Bucky had died that Steve hadn’t been haunted by that bone-deep grief. 

“I was…” Steve frowned and looked down at those pale blue eyes, so pale they were almost silver in quality, and they threatened to take him apart, to crack him open. He supposed that’s why his voice broke when he finally admitted, “I was in a bad place, Buck. I wasn’t me. You already know I wasn’t sleeping, I hardly ate, I—I was done and I was going to raise hell on my way out. I don’t know how she did it, but somehow she got through to me there in _that_ place of all places.”

Bucky made a sad noise in the back of his throat and gave Steve’s belly another soft kiss, this one lingered long enough to draw out the rest of the words from Steve’s throat.

“She’s so fuckin’ sweet, you know? Darcy is this mixture of stupid courage and gentleness,” Steve laughed here, eyes drifting to the ceiling as he wiped a heavy hand over his face. “I never saw her coming, never would have guessed in a million years. And I never know what she’s going to do next.”

Steve felt his face and neck and chest flush as he openly talked about her, willingly cracked open his chest for the other man to see, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to glance down and see the look on Bucky’s face. Mostly because while he was supposed to be Captain fucking America, he was also a coward—or at least he felt like one right now. 

“You like her.”

Those three words lured Steve’s gaze back to the dark-haired man. Bucky’s face was carefully blank and Steve swallowed, his voice quiet, and deep, “Yeah, I do.” 

Slowly, Bucky nodded, as though lost in deep thought. And then his eyes flicked up. 

“Have you slept with her?”

Steve went still and he felt keen eyes on him, waiting, watching, searching and giving absolutely nothing away.

“No,” Steve admitted with a soft shake of his head. Bucky didn’t say anything, just stared, waiting, because somehow the bastard _knew_. Wetting his lips, Steve continued in a careful voice, “We fooled around though… enough that I have a good idea of what she would sound like,” slowly, Steve’s eyes slid up to Bucky’s. His brows pinched together and lifted in the middle, voice dropping into a whisper, “Are you upset?”

Bucky didn’t answer for a long time and Steve thought he might never breathe again, even as Bucky lifted himself onto his arms and crawled up beside Steve to plop down in the hollow spot beside him on the large bed. 

He stared up at the ceiling while Steve stared at him. 

“I had hoped you would be the one to tell me instead of having to bring it up myself,” Bucky’s voice drifted into the quiet of the room and Steve’s mouth tightened. He nodded, understanding, because it was an asshole move to do. Eyes the color of diluted ink slanted an exasperated look his way after a long pause, “But I also know you and getting you to admit shit that you actually care about on your own is like pulling goddamn _molars_.” Bucky squinted at him. “You really gotta work on that, Steve.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Neither of them said a word for a long time and then—

“This is a lot to take in,” Bucky admitted quietly but there was something there, something living in those words that breathed life into the hot coals under Steve’s skin. The blond bodily turned on his side, propping his head up in his hand. He eyed the other man for a long while, searching his face and feeling something stir inside of his chest and he thought it felt almost like hope.

“I think she’s special, Buck,” Steve whispered at last because it was truth for him, truth as it was truth that he loved Bucky with every fiber of his being. But this truth was fragile and new and like all new things, so easily crushed.

Bucky turned and looked at him then, searching, eyes darting between both of Steve’s.

“She died for me, Steve. She _died_ , you realize that, right? Her heart fucking stopped.” Bucky gasped out and whatever stoic thing had come over him when he first brought Darcy up fell away and what was left behind was a creature so desperate, it echoed the beat of Steve’s own heart. “That woman brought me back from the dead and from the sounds of it, she brought you back, too… I would hear her talk to me, sometimes, you know. Just this voice, it was the only measure of peace I had, the anchor in that hell.” Bucky was blinking and his lashes were clumping together the faster he blinked and then finally, he croaked out, “You’re right… that’s pretty damn special.”

For the life of him, Steve had no idea what to say. He wanted with everything in him to say something meaningful, to mark this moment, what came out of his mouth instead was:

“She named a star after you.”

A beat of silence.

“Why would she do that?” Bucky was not quite laughing. 

“Because she’s Darcy,” Steve explained as though that was enough and for him, it was. But for Bucky, he added, “And she cares so goddamn much. She’s like the stories you used to read to us at night when we were kids. She’s a riddle, magic even.”

Silence stretched between to two of them, yawning and laying down and Steve felt like his heart had grown three times its size, but it hadn’t. It hadn’t miraculously grown, he had just finally allowed himself the possibility of holding more than Bucky within its chambers and he found that he was hungry for it; _ravenous_.

“You’ve got that dopey look, Rogers,” Bucky commented with a knowing grin. “You’re already gone for this girl, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, “I think I am.”

It was with a fragile kind of stillness that Bucky spoke next, “I want to get to know her if she’d let me.”

Steve frowned.

“If?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Steve,” Bucky curled his body upwards until he was sitting and scoffed as he twisted back to glance down at the blond, “she doesn’t seem very willing to talk to either of us right now.”

He had noticed. Of course, he had fucking noticed. Darcy made it impossible _not_ to notice. She had all but fled the meeting this morning the instant it was over with Thor at her heels like an oversized shadow. There was no way in hell Steve was getting anywhere near her unless she sought him out, the God of Thunder had made that painfully clear.

“It’s my fault,” Steve said and raised his eyes to the dark-haired man. He shook his head. “I think I fucked up. I didn’t tell her and I should have.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve opened his mouth but the words never left his throat, they choked at the base of his neck, trapped, as his stomach clenched at the sudden, haunting wail of the Compound sirens. 

The two locked eyes for a split second before surging out of bed.

“It's the stone— _Darcy_ ,” Steve’s voice was harsh and it hurt his throat as he shouted. “We gotta go!” 

Steve was tugging on a pair of sweatpants fast enough that he tore a hole in the waist band while Bucky did the same and somehow managed to even pull a black shirt over his head. Their room illuminated in blood red flood lights and in less than a few seconds, they were dressed and out the door, bare feet slapping against tile as they tore down the hallway.

* * *

_\+ Eleven hours earlier +_

She had a total of about five seconds, maybe less.

She was a racehorse caged in its corral, stomping its hooves in the dusty ground, chomping at the bit, muscles strung tight, eyes rolling, world hinging on the word go. Darcy knew she would have to move quick given the look in Steve’s eyes, the promise there. 

It had taken real effort to tear her gaze away from the steel trap that was Steven Grant Rogers, but she did it. The Avengers continued discussing a few additional things around the conference table, much of which Darcy had started to tune out, but she couldn’t really blame herself. 

She had just found out that an infinity stone was feeding off of her soul and she was most likely going to die after all.

It didn’t feel like she would have expected. She wasn’t crushed, she wasn’t heartbroken or desperate for all the things she had never done; Darcy was calm. Eerily calm and filled with a strange sense of purpose. All of her life she had wanted to _do_ something, to contribute in some meaningful way, and now was her chance. She was lucky, she supposed, too few were given the knowledge of their death and even fewer would die in a way that actually meant something.

Steve had given them forty-eight hours and it was a goddamn joke. Darcy didn’t even need forty-eight seconds.

Her mind had been made up, had been made up maybe since the day she was born. It was fitting, really, that the average girl with the average life would be given a spectacular death.

Darcy almost laughed.

“That’s enough,” Steve was saying, and Darcy’s ears pricked, everything in her sharpening to a point. “We’ll reconvene in in forty-eight. Get some rest.”

Darcy shot up from her chair nearly knocking it over backwards. 

All eyes turned to her, but she ignored them and the man calling her name, whirling around on her heel instead and marching out the door trying her hardest not to look like she was retreating (she was). Her feet carried her as fast as they could go, and she hardly paid attention to her surroundings as she whipped down one hall after another until she caught sight of the door to Thor’s room.

Her hand visibly shook as she reached for the doorknob and she paused then, staring at the tremble in her bones, feeling like her whole body was buzzing.

A second later, she was overshadowed, and a much larger, unerringly steady hand covered her own over the doorknob; it was warm to the touch. Lips dropping open, Darcy slowly glanced up and met Thor’s aching gaze. 

“We will find a way to sever you from the Soul Stone, Darcy. I swear it.”

She stared at him, said nothing, and opened the door to his room. Thor followed her, softly closing the door once he was inside and Darcy kicked off her shoes, heading for the bathroom.

“I’m going to finish my bath,” she said without turning around.

* * *

She was a coward and she knew it.

Darcy had stayed in the bath until Thor left, until her skin pruned, until the water turned cold. Wallowing was a good way to put it. She wasn’t sure what it said about her as a person that her heart twisted sharper over losing Steve (who she never really had in the beginning because it was hard to have a man that belonged to another, mind, body, and soul) than the prospect of dying, but it did and she couldn’t deny it. Seeing the two of them, Steve and Bucky, even briefly, was like a knife in her gut and she hated that it was like that at all.

Darcy should be _happy_ for them, she should want the happy ending for both Bucky and Steve (because God knows they deserve it), but it was hard to be happy when you were pretty sure you were being torn in two. Maybe that made her greedy, selfish, but it was the goddamn truth. She had told Steve this is the sort of thing that always happened, that she was always left for a better option, and he had made such sweet promises, so sweet she had swallowed them down whole. But even now, thinking about it all, Darcy found that she couldn't entirely blame Steve for his choice. This was Bucky Barnes after all.

It still hurt like hell though.

And then there was the guilt. Guilt that radiated in the center of her chest, guilt of knowing what she and Steve had done that made trying to look Bucky in the eyes next to impossible, so Darcy avoided it all together. It wasn’t the most brilliant strategy, but it was working for now. Besides, it wasn’t like Darcy had a lot of time left to come up with a new one.

It wasn't like Darcy had a lot of time left at _all_.

Curling up on Thor’s large bed, she wrapped herself up in the softest blanket she could find and let herself drift into oblivion. 

A few hours later, she was in a deep sleep when she woke up very suddenly and lay blinking up at the ceiling, bleary and confused. She heard the knock on the door a minute later and Darcy frowned. She lay still for a few more minutes and then gave a furious roll of her eyes before throwing the covers off of her with sheer violence.

“I am not putting on pants for you,” she muttered to the person on the other side of the door who had no way of hearing her, but she did wrap the soft throw blanket around her shoulders to mask her lack of bra. The sleep shirt she wore was more of a dress, anyway, reaching down to her mid-thigh. Darcy ran a hand through her already messy hair and moved across the large bedroom.

With a harsh scowl, Darcy threw open the door and blinked.

Natasha Romanoff stared back with a small tray in her hands and brows that had been plucked to perfection lifted in a delicate arch.

“Hi,” Darcy said dumbly.

Muted green eyes didn’t sweep over her like anyone else might have, but they were calculating nonetheless. She lifted the tray she carried slightly higher. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” Darcy stepped back. If it had been anyone else, she might have closed the door on their face (she was dying and having a pity party, fucking sue her), but Natasha had surprised her so deeply that she wasn’t able to stop herself in time.

As if counting on that, Natasha waltzed right into Thor’s room and set the tray on the sleek desk against the wall. On it were two covered plates and bowls along with two spoons and napkins. Darcy was a statue still standing by the door, her brain refusing to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. She wondered how many people in the world could say they had room service courtesy of the Black Widow? And of those, how many survived the encounter?

Darcy was suddenly slightly nervous.

“I brought lunch,” Natasha told her needlessly and the redhead’s eyes flicked up. This time, Darcy caught her cataloguing different things as her gaze swept over her magnificent disheveled look. Whatever the other woman saw made her brows crease. “You need to eat.”

Darcy didn’t say anything and as if she was expecting that, Natasha began uncovering the plates and bowls. As she did, Darcy couldn’t help but rise slightly onto her toes, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders, trying to catch a glimpse of what one of the world’s most deadly assassins would eat.

There was a quirk to Natasha’s lips, like she was aware that she had Darcy’s complete attention. Finally, the redhead stepped back and Darcy stared down at the food, smelled the familiar scent waft towards her, and her heart softened.

Apparently assassins ate grilled cheese and tomato soup.

Just seeing something so normal eased Darcy’s defenses and she found that her smile, this time, was real, albeit smaller than usual. “Thank you.”

Natasha smiled back, which wasn’t really a smile at all but it was as close to one as Natasha ever wore.

They pulled together two chairs and sat down in quiet and ate. The sandwich was good, simple and slightly greasy from the butter, and the soup warmed Darcy down to her bones. She realized it was the first meal that she had been able to eat since the Soul Stone without her stomach turning.

She felt eyes on her, but not obnoxiously so. Natasha had a way of watching people without directly looking at them. Darcy didn’t know whether to be frightened by that skill or relieved.

She chose relieved for the moment.

“Thor is worried.”

The spoon paused halfway to Darcy’s mouth and her eyes flicked up to clash with emerald green. She slowly lowered it back to the nearly empty bowl. “Thor is always worried.”

“That’s what happens when you care about someone,” Natasha told her quietly and Darcy’s heart pricked in her chest.

“Sometimes,” she started and then stopped. Her eyes drifted to the open window and she stared at the golden sunlight but could not see its source. “Sometimes I wonder if he regrets bringing me to you all.”

Natasha just stared at her and Darcy continued.

“He could have left me in Boston after… after he realized Jane was gone. I wouldn’t have blamed him.”

“If he did,” Natasha was choosing her words carefully, “we wouldn’t be here… _Barnes_ wouldn’t be here,” she was polite enough to ignore Darcy’s visible flinch at his name. Natasha looked at her openly then and for the first time, Darcy thought she caught a glimpse of the woman behind the armor. “We all have a part to play and we don’t get to choose what that is. We just have to play it.”

Darcy’s hands twisted together in her lap before she reached up and tugged the blanket she had draped over herself a little higher. After a moment, she asked softly, “Who did you lose in the Snap, Natasha?”

The redhead stared at her for a long, long time.

“I didn’t," she said with a small shake of her head. "I lost them long before.”

Brows creasing and lifting in the middle, Darcy waited for the other woman to elaborate but Natasha said nothing more.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy told her and she was.

They finished the rest of their meal in quiet and it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Natasha must have been paying closer attention than Darcy had realized because she offered the second half of her grilled cheese to her and wouldn’t take no for an answer. The responding growl from Darcy’s stomach was enough to cement the decision.

Her mouth was packed full when Natasha spoke next in that quiet tone of hers.

“Thor isn’t the only one who is worried,” Darcy froze, cheeks bulging, and she stared at the redhead. Her heart pounded and Darcy was suddenly glad that she didn't have to ability to get a single word out. The corner of Natasha’s lips ticked upwards a centimeter. “Hiding in here forever isn’t going to work, you know.”

Darcy swallowed and it was a large lump of bread and cheese that she probably should have chewed a bit better, but she was nervous. With a grimace, her shoulders hunched up to her ears. “I know.”

“Then why do it?”

A pause.

“Because I’m scared.”

Natasha sat there for a long time. She crossed her legs and tilted her head. “Steve’s stubborn but he’s not cruel.”

Flicking her eyes off to the side, Darcy nodded in agreement, “You're right. He’s not,” she admitted in a small voice before her eyes flashed back to Natasha’s with surprising weight. “But love is.”

The two women just stared at one another and Darcy got the distinct impression that what she had said hit closer to home for the other woman than either had expected.

“It can be,” Natasha nodded, a single dip of her head. “But not always. Sometimes it can be beautiful.”

Darcy didn’t know what to say to that; had never experienced that and so she didn’t entirely trust it. But she trusted Natasha. She didn’t know why, had no real reason to, but sitting here, looking at her, Darcy did. 

“This is going to put a target on your back,” Natasha told her suddenly, and Darcy snapped back to herself. Her brows pulled low over her eyes and Natasha clarified. “The stone. What you can do.”

“Oh.”

Natasha watched her, green gaze bright and searching for a moment, and then—“The offer in still on the table.”

“What offer?”

“Our enemies will be your enemies a hundredfold,” Natasha told her and her voice was suddenly much older than the rest of her looked. She seemed _ancient_. Without waiting another second, Natasha leaned forward, reaching her hands behind to her back to produce a small, black and silver firearm. She set it on the desk and Darcy felt something in her stomach go cold.

“Take the gun, Darcy.”

“No,” she shook her head, her face paling. “I don’t want that. I’ve never wanted it. I _can’t_.”

Natasha showed her first sign of open frustration as Darcy watched her jaw clench until the skin around it turned bone white. 

She frowned at the redhead. “Why do you keep offering?”

There was a moment that Darcy thought she wouldn’t answer. But then Natasha leaned back in her chair, her expression becoming frighteningly blank, like she had been wiped clean. “I knew someone like you who didn’t take my advice, didn’t defend herself as she should. She paid the price. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“Who was she?”

“You’ll need another form of protection then," the former Russian spy easily evaded the question. Natasha’s eyes were dark and behind the strong as dragon scale armor she wore, a fire burned.

Something shifted in the air then and Darcy knew the truth, it was a hard and angular sort of truth, the kind that cut a person and bled them out before they even felt a thing. Her voice dropped low and quiet.

“Or maybe I won’t.”

* * *

“When was the last time you slept?”

Bruce glanced up from the screen he had nearly gone cross-eyed staring at. His brows lifted over the rim of his glasses as he looked Tony over, mumbling out, “You’re one to talk.”

“Hey, I had a near death experience, one of many in fact,” Tony informed him, walking deeper into the Med Bay. He picked up a chart—Barnes chart—and his dark eyes flitted over it with surprisingly speed as he continued, “Maybe it’s finally sticking. I’m trying to change my ways, maybe I’ll even start doing yoga with you, who knows. There is a world of possibilities. So, when was it?”

“I’m not sure,” Bruce sighed, removing his glasses with one hand as he sat back in his chair and rubbed his face.

Tony watched him carefully and then chirped out, “Wrong answer. Time to step away, Doctor Banner,” the billionaire offered his hand palm up with a teasing grin. “The sun’s gettin’ real low.”

Bruce leveled him with a flat look and that only made Tony grin’s grow. Knowing how the other man got, like a shark scenting blood in the water, Bruce rolled his neck and slipped his glasses back over his eyes.

“After I run these—”

“It’ll hold,” Tony cut him off, his tone softening. Bruce looked at the other man and Tony repeated, firmer, “It’ll hold. You, however, won’t.” 

Bruce supposed he was right about that, not that he would ever tell Tony. The man would never let him live it down. With a soft groan and a close-lipped smile of acceptance, Bruce stood and stretched before cleaning up his station, organizing the different test results into neater piles.

Tony helped him, hands fluttering around like a buzzing bee that couldn’t quite decide which flower it wanted to land on. 

“By the way,” the billionaire was saying as they cleaned, “I was working on a new Hulk suit—”

“Tony.”

Going still, Tony’s eyes flashed to his and Bruce could only stare at him.

“What, what’s that look for?”

Wetting his lips, Bruce shrugged slightly, “I just, I don’t think we’ll need it.” When Tony said nothing, waiting for him to explain, Bruce’s brows pulled together. “You know how I’ve been having my… problem.” Tony nodded and Bruce inhaled, “I think Hulk was Snapped with the others.”

“How?” Tony slowly set down the chart in his hands, not even looking to see which pile he was putting it in.

“Before I could still hear him, arguing with me mainly, but ever since Thanos snapped his fingers, it’s been dead silent. I think he’s gone.”

Tony stared at him for a long time. “Bruce, I’m sorry.”

Bruce offered him a soft smile; it was all he had.

“Don’t be. If Darcy can really open up the stone again, well, I don’t even know if I want him back.”

* * *

Evening fell and with it rose a yellow crescent moon. Darcy sat by the window, reading a book when Thor returned. She looked up when the door opened without a knock. Electric blue eyes swept across the room and found her almost instantly. Carefully, Darcy placed her bookmark in between the two pages she was on.

“How are you feeling?” Thor asked right away.

“Good,” she answered quietly. Her lips curled as he walked over and then her face transformed into an expression of complete and utter disgust as soon as she got a whiff of him. “Ugh. I take it you’ve been training.”

“I do not smell _that_ bad,” he objected with a small tone of offense.

Darcy plugged her nose, “Hate to break it to you, Big Guy, but you do. Worse than a Bilgesnipe.”

"Those actually smell quite lovely."

"Bull _shit_ they do, I remember the one from London!"

Thor harummphed and sat down on a nearby chair, toeing off his boots, letting them thump loudly to the floor one after another. Darcy watched him with a secret grin and curled her feet beneath her. 

“Did you sleep much today?”

Her brows lifted in response. 

“I napped off an on,” she didn’t tell him about her afternoon visitor. For some reason, Darcy felt like Natasha wouldn’t want others to know about it. The redhead struck her as a deeply private person anyway. At the mere mention of sleep however, a yawn overtook her and Darcy let it happen with gusto. “You would think I would be done sleeping, but no. I feel like I could lie down for another twelve hours straight.”

“Your body needs the rest,” Thor told her with no small amount of concern. He stood and walked over, pointedly ignoring Darcy’s exaggerated gags, and placed a rough palm flat against her forehead. 

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?” She asked with a squint.

Thor rolled his eyes, “More rest for you.”

“Hmm, I have a diagnosis,” Darcy said while tapping her forefinger against her bottom lip. She pursed her mouth and Thor quirked a brow.

“Oh?”

“Yes. For you.”

“And that is?” He prompted, playing along with her game. Darcy smiled at him then, teasingly.

“A very long shower. It should help with the smell and if that doesn’t work, a bath. I could even roll some of those essential oils I found in the bathroom on you. Something— _anything_ , please.”

“Agreed,” Thor told her easily, “I’ll bathe, you sleep.”

Darcy scoffed. “If I must.”

Her words were teasing but whatever glint had been in Thor’s eyes faded like the night sky losing a star as it fell to earth. His fingers brushed against her cheek. “Aye,” he whispered softly. “You must.”

Shutting her eyes, Darcy leaned into his touch for the briefest of seconds. “Deal.”

“Up you go, then,” Thor urged gently, and Darcy carried her book with her over to the bed under the watchful eye of the god. 

Pulling back the covers, she climbed in on her side of the mattress and settled down. Her eyes watched, slowly drifting shut, as Thor went about the room, gathering his things before disappearing into the bathroom and shutting the door.

A second later, she heard the water turn on.

* * *

This time, she dreamed of lightning.

It crackled through the sky like an intricate spider web, like glass under too much pressure. Every hair on her body, even the fine hairs on her arms and back of her neck, seemed to rise to attention as the electricity slithered over her skin. In between strikes against a great and mighty mountain, the sky was a frightening kind of dark and the clouds rolled like a storm across a thirsty desert. And in the distance, there were two glowing white eyes.

_Darcy._

_DARCY._

Thunder boomed suddenly, making her jump and Darcy’s eyes snapped open. She gasped, laying there in a cold sweat. The air dipped in and out of her lungs and she stared blankly ahead. The space beside her was empty and cold.

Frowning, Darcy sat up, her muscles trembling whether from the dream or the onset of another cramping episode, she wasn’t sure. Dim light shone under the bathroom door and Darcy frowned even deeper at it. Thor had been in there for a very long time.

And then she heard it; a sound that Darcy knew in her very soul. 

Slipping out from beneath the comfortable heat of the covers, she tip-toed her way to the bathroom door, pressing her palm flat against the wood and then her ear. Her blood marched in her veins but a second later there was a wet gasp followed by a low, heart wrenching moan. Without hesitating, her fingers wrapped around the doorknob and she cautiously cracked open the door, peeking inside and when she did, Darcy’s heart nearly tore itself from her chest.

On the tiled floor with his back resting against the tub, Thor was slumped over, his head in his hands, fingers trembling as his body almost silently heaved. Tears streamed down his crumpled face, they ran down his beard, glistening in the light, leaving dark splashes on the material of his shirt where they fell.

On the ground beside him lay the photograph of Jane. 

Darcy hadn't even seen him take it in there with him. She stood there for a few breaths longer before something like resolve settled deep in her belly. Closing the door silently, Darcy knew exactly what Jane would do if the roles were reversed. She swiftly dressed and threw her hair up in a messy ponytail, heart pounding with the knowledge of what she was about to do.

It might kill her but she was going to die soon anyway.

Tonight, the stone had to open.

* * *

Sirens blared like air horns and the sheer volume hurt Steve's ears, made them ache, but he ignored it. There wasn’t a name for it, for the thing flooding Steve’s chest and racing through his veins as he plowed down the narrow hallways, Bucky at his side. It gave flight to his feet and Steve wasn’t sure he had ever run so fast in his entire life.

His feet hit the floor with incredible force, arms pumping, “Left!”

Bucky gracefully followed his instruction but despite the fact that he gave the command, Steve somehow still managed to slam himself into the same goddamn concaves that he had put in the walls the other night. They ran, twisting and turning, until they reached the telltale window-walls of the laboratories and instantly Steve’s eyes were frantically searching for a mop of midnight curls.

Except he didn’t see the dark hair he expected, no, as Steve skidded to a stop this time, he was stunned as his eyes fell upon the pale skin of Darcy’s completely coherent face staring back at him.

 _She’s choosing this,_ a voice quaked inside of him.

A thorny vine of fear squeezed his heart and Steve cried out, panting, “Stop! Darcy, please!”

There was no anger in his voice, just a desperate pleading. Her jaw clenched and she was staring right at him, her hand hovering over the glass case holding the stone. There was something in her eyes, a decision made, and it dropped Steve’s stomach down to his feet.

She plucked the top of the glass case off and Steve threw out his hands, almost falling forward, a yell tearing from his throat, “Just wait— _WAIT GODDAMNIT!_ ” 

Darcy froze; her eyes were very bright and red-rimmed. Suddenly her gaze shot to something behind him and Steve heard her sudden inhale as her fingers tensed around the glass.

“Easy,” Bucky murmured, appearing beside Steve, lifting both hands like he was approaching a wild horse. 

Steve glanced at him swiftly and then his eyes flew back to Darcy when he heard the quiet words, “It’s my choice.”

His throat was closing in on him and Steve was shaking his head. 

“I asked for forty-eight hours,” Steve reminded her and his voice cracked. He knew he was panicked and wild, he could feel it come over him and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the goddamn ice from swallowing him whole. “We’ve still—we’ve still got _time_.”

_It’s like we’ve got no time. We never have any time. There’s always something looming over us._

“Who are you going for?”

Darcy’s eyes flickered back to Bucky as the dark-haired man took a slow, steady step deeper into the lab. Steve knew instantly, even in his panicked mind, that if Bucky got another five steps closer, Darcy wouldn’t be able to grab the stone fast enough to stop him from getting to her. 

Another half-step followed by Bucky’s impossibly calm question, “Who do you want to bring back this time?”

Darcy hesitated, like the question struck home, and Steve ran with that.

“Jane?” He asked with a hard swallow. Darcy’s chin wobbled and Steve’s pulse jumped in his throat. Bucky took another slow step and Steve fought hard not to look at the man, not to draw Darcy’s attention to him. “Sweetheart, we’ll figure out a way to get Jane back. I swear to fucking god we will.”

But Darcy was smart, she was smart as _hell_ , and with a flare of shaking rage, baring her teeth, she slid her eyes to Bucky and warned, “If you take _another step forward_ James Buchanan Barnes—”

"Okay." Bucky stopped, still keeping his hands raised and Steve tried again, cold nausea climbing up his body.

“Don’t do this right now, you’re still healing and we don’t know— _please_ ,” Steve’s voice felt weak and it had been a long time since anything in him had felt weak, but staring at Darcy now, that’s exactly what he was. “For me, Darcy.” 

The others were getting close, Steve could hear them and soon, Darcy would, too. But for now, her eyes were solely on him and Steve thought his heart might shatter with the way she looked at him then.

“That’s the problem isn’t it?” She asked, her voice soft, so soft. “I’m not yours. You’re his.” Steve felt those words stare at something hot and desperate in his chest. Her eyes burned and in that moment, she was magnificent. "And I'm not doing this one for you."

Darcy thrust her hand over the stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I was so goddamn emotional writing this chapter and I wholeheartedly blame Bucky and the fact that I've been sick. Bleh. I don't know what happened to me lmao, the man ruined me. Also, please don't kill me. It won't be like this forever, this is angst with a happy ending but I'm also trying to be realistic about some of the situations our characters are finding themselves in. All will be well in the end but it's a journey and we've got to travel the road to get there <3
> 
> *The quote Steve recited is from the Song of Songs.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/)! I shared some fun Stucky manips on there this week (and usually post a chapter sneak peek).


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, this chapter is brought to you by COVID-19 (no, really, turns out that's why I've been sick for ten days straight). Be kind to people around you and wear a fucking mask.

During the War, Steve had a lot of bad days. On one of those bad days he watched a kid, no older than nineteen, get his legs blow to smithereens less than a hundred feet from him. The kid was a fast-talking Italian, a cocky son of a bitch born and bred near the Hudson River docks in Hell’s Kitchen. He reminded Steve a lot of Bucky, was made of the same stuff, deep down in his bones, which only made it worse when the kid stepped on a hidden landmine.

There was a split second before the explosion, a split second where the kid realized what was about to happen, his face twisting into something naked, raw, and terrible, and everything became quiet and still. And then he was nothing more than a shower of blood and bone. Steve remembered spending a long time trying to scrub the dark brown stains out of his hair, convinced it would never really come out.

It was almost like watching that kid now, except this wasn’t a kid. 

This was Darcy. 

She didn’t just touch the stone; Darcy took _hold_ of it. Thin fingers wrapped around it like a bear trap snapping shut around the ankle of a great beast. And just like when that kid stepped on that mine, there was a moment of silence, frightening silence.

Then, like a pack of dynamite, the stone exploded in a decimating, painful, blinding orange light.

Steve slammed into the wall hard enough to make something crack while Bucky was thrown through the open door into the hallway with a yell. 

The lab transformed into a hurricane of energy, light, and ancient, cruel power with Darcy right in the eye. It slid over Steve’s skin and he stared in open mouthed horror as the stone seemed to swell and grow and morph and then swallow Darcy whole. 

“Holy… _mother of god_.” Bucky staggered up beside him, panting, gray-blue eyes perfect circles.

Even though Steve had seen it before, there was no preparing for it, the way that Darcy screamed herself hollow. She didn’t lift into the air this time, she was planted to the ground like the root of a great tree but her head contorted backwards at an unnatural angle and even from across the lab, Steve could see the skin on her hand splitting, like it was bursting at the seams, bright red cracks crawling their way further up her arm.

It was a heart-pounding ten seconds, ten seconds that held an eternity, and then the light was sucked back inside the stone like a vacuum. Darcy swayed on her feet, eyes fogged over and dazed, blood gushing from her limp, right arm. 

The stone fell to the ground with a soft, innocent _clink_.

And then she tipped over.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve lunged forward, his heart lurching in his throat as he sprinted across the slick tiled floor. She fell and he slid to his knees, skidding the rest of the way, barely catching her a second before she could hit the ground.

Darcy’s eyes were open, her lips colorless and dry, but she was staring at Steve, almost blankly, twitching in his arms. 

Lingering in the air was the nauseating smell of cooked flesh.

“Hey, c’mon sweetheart,” Steve’s voice cracked as the words came tumbling out in a panicked rush. He stroked the side of her face with a shaking hand, throat tight, “Don’t do this again. Stay with me. Stay with me. God, please, stay with me. I don’t—I can’t, _do you hear me, Darcy?_ ” There was anger now and he was yelling even though he didn’t really mean to, but Steve wanted to shake her, if only so she could see. “I _can’t_. I fucking can’t so you need to stay with me, okay?”

Her eyes grew vacant and glossy, fluttering in a terrible way, and Steve’s world transformed into blinding white terror. A wordless cry tore from his throat and it was an awful, _awful_ sound. His face crumpled and he dropped his forehead against hers.

“ _No!_ Don’t do that, don’t fucking do that, sweetheart. Please, god, Jesus Christ.”

There was movement next to him, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to turn away from the woman dying in his arms. Cloth was tearing and two hands reached out, one warm, one cool. Bucky crouched next to him and grabbed Darcy’s mangled right arm and made a quick tourniquet just below her elbow, tying it off with a flash of straight, white teeth.

“Need to stop the bleeding,” Bucky told him in a controlled voice and then that silver hand rested on the side of Darcy’s thin neck, feeling her pulse. Bucky visibly swallowed, and his eyes flicked up to Steve before falling back down to the woman in his arms. He scooted closer. 

“Darce, don’t… don’t go breaking his heart, okay? You need to listen to Steve. Can you stay awake for us?”

Another flutter of her eyelids but it wasn’t the kind that came before death, this was like waking up. Steve saw it, the way that Darcy returned to herself, if only slightly. Her eyes slid to Bucky and there was a slight crease in her dark brows, as if she didn’t understand his words.

Bucky nodded and somehow pulled out a smile, for her. 

“There you go, look at those baby blues, you’re gonna be alright. Keep your eyes on me or Stevie here.”

Bucky’s words wedged a space in the door between consciousness and unconsciousness. Enough for Darcy to lift her trembling, bloody arm and touch Steve’s cheek. He nodded silently to her, heart clamping down in his chest, brows pulling together in the middle and lifting. Darcy’s fingers were hot and slick, the touch was so light he would have missed it if he weren’t staring at her like he could hold her together by his strength alone. 

She gasped then, wincing at the pain. Tears welled in her eyes and her chapped lips parted in a wheezing keen. 

“We need to move her,” Bucky told him and Steve hitched her higher in his arms, standing up. Bucky helped, holding her head in one hand and lifting her bloody arm to rest against her chest with the other.

Others showed up then, Tony was first followed by Natasha, the latter of whom went paper white when her eyes took in the situation. But it was oddly enough Tony who spoke first, who spoke softly; afraid.

“Is the kid alright?”

Steve didn’t have an answer, so he let Bucky answer for him. “She’s conscious. We need to get her to the Med Bay, _now_.”

“Banner’s already there,” Natasha informed them in her deep voice. “He’s prepping things.”

“Good.”

In Steve’s arms, Darcy jerked harshly, like she did before she had a cramping episode and fuck, he hoped she wasn’t about to go into one of those. Her face screwed up in agony; her eyes were very bright. 

Somehow, she managed to wrench the words from her dry throat, “Did it work?”

“Oh, you little _fool_ ,” Thor’s voice rushed through the door like a strong wind and it curled around them in a growling swirl of fear and anger. The god bared his teeth, face red, heavy feet stomping over to take Darcy from Steve’s arms, and Steve didn’t know how to tell him that he wasn’t handing Darcy over, not this time. Maybe not ever. “Why would you—”

“Thor?”

Later, Steve would swear that his heart stopped. 

They all froze and like water down a bathtub drain, all the color in Thor’s face disappeared. His mouth opened, his throat worked but there was no sound, and then, he slowly turned around.

Deep in the lab near the fallen infinity stone stood a petite woman in a soft red flannel; she had honeyed hair and kind, whisky eyes.

“It cannot be,” the god whispered hoarsely. He staggered back as though someone had punched all the air from his lungs, banging the door into the wall with a solid _thunk_. More glass fell to the ground. Stunned, his chest rose and fell rapidly, and he lifted a closed fist over his mouth, something almost like heartbreak flashing across his face. Then, louder—

“It cannot be.”

In Steve’s arms, Darcy smiled like she was drunk, like she was in so much pain that she had momentarily gone numb to it. “Hey… I did it.”

“ _THOR!_ ”

The woman— _Jane_ , Steve realized—broke into a sprint, her face splitting into a wide, beautiful smile. She bolted across the lab and threw herself into Thor’s arms with a surprising amount of force for such a tiny body. Thor didn’t even try to keep his legs beneath him, the god tumbled backwards and to the ground with a wet, strangled laugh, like it couldn’t decide whether it was born of desperation or joy.

“Jane,” Darcy slurred out, blood still oozing down her arm, gathering at her elbow in a steady drip, drip, drip.

And then she went ramrod straight in Steve’s arms, paling, vein popping in her forehead. A pain laced groan wove its wave through her gritted teeth.

Steve swore violently and tightened his grip on Darcy, fingers digging into her skin, and then he was carrying her out the door, leaving the others behind. There was an itch in his spine that was screaming at him to take Darcy and run but he ignored it and kept his pace urgent but steady.

Bucky was hot on his trail, coming up on his side. The dark-haired man kept checking her pulse, saying, “She’s okay, Steve. She’s okay,” and then it changed to, “You’re alright, you’re gonna be alright, Darce.”

Her eyes slit open and twin streaks of tears slipped down over her temples, rolling into her dark hair. Darcy stared up at Steve, eyes suddenly alert in the way people who were deeply afraid they were about to die were alert. There was a naked fear there, as if she were hovering over a cliff, and Steve had seen it enough to recognize it for what it was. Seeing that look shining Darcy’s eyes made him stumble, like his legs couldn’t quite hold the weight.

Bucky’s hands steadied him—steadied them—and Steve for the life of him, couldn’t look away from Darcy.

“You got her?”

“I’ve got her,” Steve told him hoarsely, blinking fast and hard. His throat was tight as he turned them down another hallway, “You hear me, Darcy? I’ve got you.” More tears rolled down her temples and her face did something terrible. Steve’s mouth kept moving. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Please don’t look at me like that. It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

“Hurts,” was all she said, and Steve nodded, wetting his lips.

“I know, I know it does. But we’re going to get you some help, just stay awake, okay?”

They finally reached the Med Bay and Bucky opened the door for them, calling out for Banner as he did. Steve turned so that Darcy’s head carefully went through the doorway first and then his gaze flicked up as Banner rushed over.

“She’s awake,” the man said with no small amount of surprise, and then—“She’s bleeding.”

“That’s the hand she took the stone in; it fucked her up.”

“Bring her over here.”

Steve did as instructed and very carefully laid Darcy down in a stark white bed. It was a struggle because she didn’t seem to want to let go of the grip she had on his bare shoulder with her good hand, at least not until Bucky forced her to and thank fuck for that, god knows Steve wouldn’t have been able to do that himself. Straightening, Steve watched as Darcy kept her mangled arm tucked tightly into her chest and groaned aloud. Banner immediately began taking her vitals and Steve stepped back with great effort and worried eyes, running nervous hands through his hair.

“Good to see you awake, Darcy,” Banner commented quietly as he listened to her heart. Like a cool summer lake, his voice washed over the room. “I see we’re making trouble again today. What did you do to your arm here?”

She answered with a hoarse whimper, sucking air in and out of her clenched teeth fast enough that flecks of spit landed on her full bottom lip and chin, but Darcy didn’t have that frightening glassy look in her eyes. She was awake—she was awake and in agony. 

Steve wasn’t sure what was the better option at the moment. 

“Can’t you give her something for the pain?”

Bucky looked at him from the side and then turned his eyes back to Darcy and Banner. He stepped forward, offering calmly, much calmer than Steve was currently capable of. “Before we got here her pulse was pretty faint, oxygen was at eighty-seven.”

Banner glanced at him with a questioning frown. Bucky stared back for a long moment before merely lifting his left hand in explanation. Dark brows rose above Banner’s thin glasses as he took in the gleaming silver. 

“Ah, I see.”

“I can help,” Bucky nodded his chin at Darcy and Banner smiled tightly. 

“I’m going to finish taking her vitals, why don’t you wash up and you can help me with her arm. I’m going to need someone to hold her down.”

Like a soldier accepting orders, Bucky walked over to a sink and rolled up the sleeves of his already torn shirt. Checking Darcy’s vitals was a quiet but efficient affair for Banner. Steve watched every move like a hawk. Thankfully, the man narrated what they were as he went, as if he knew Steve was going to ask the moment he finished anyway.

“The good news is, right now her pulse is strong.” There was relief in the small smile Banner offered. “That’s better than last time. I still don’t like where her O2 levels are, so I’m going to get her on some oxygen. Her blood pressure is also spiking. I… I’m concerned if she keeps doing this, she might come away with pulmonary hypertension.”

Bucky walked back over, sleeves still rolled up over his forearms. Steve glanced at him and then his eyes shot back to Banner.

“But the stone healed her. Shouldn’t it do that again?”

“Yes, it did and I hope it will,” Banner agreed as he gently settled an oxygen tube under Darcy’s nose. “However, we all heard Loki. We don’t know what might end up being lasting effects. Speaking of which, we need to deal with her arm.”

On the bed, Darcy’s eyes rolled at those words, her breathing doubled its rate with panicked rising and falling of her chest. She tucked in her arm even tighter, turning her body protectively away from Banner even though she was in clear pain and losing blood. She was shaking all over, blinking at them hard, but before Steve could go to her, Bucky knelt at her side, leveling his face with hers. 

Darcy’s eyes flew to his in no small amount of shock and the corner of Bucky’s lips quirked.

“Do you realize how brave you’ve been?” Bucky asked her in a quiet Brooklyn drawl, the same drawl Steve spent his childhood chasing. Her brows creased and Bucky nodded as though there was no question about it. “You have. But we need you to be brave for a little while longer. Trust me, I get it, more than you know. I don’t ever want people touching my arm but sometimes we’ve got no choice; we can, however, choose how it’s done. So, what’s it gonna be, Darce? You going to let us see that arm and hold Stevie’s hand while we clean it up? Or is Doc here going to have to put you under and go through that whole mess? Either way, we’re gonna take care of you. But these are your options.”

There was a long moment of quiet as the two of them stared at one another, like they were having a silent conversation. Darcy’s chin wobbled and Bucky gave her a solemn dip of his head.

“You have my word,” Bucky promised her and Steve blinked, frowning, his eyes darting between the two of them lightning quick, because Darcy hadn’t opened her mouth at all.

And yet it was only after Bucky gave her his word that she finally, slowly, offered her quivering arm to him. His answering smile was quick and bright, like flicking on an overhead light after sitting in the darkness for hours.

“Atta girl, I knew you could do it,” he praised, eyes crinkling with pride, and got back on his feet.

“Here, this’ll help,” Banner walked over with a shot, holding it up to the light as he squinted at it. 

Steve sighed in relief, the tension in his muscles loosening as he watched Banner quickly inject her with a shot of morphine. The result was almost instantaneous. Her eyes slid to half mast, the wild, panicked edge melting away, and Darcy exhaled long and low.

“Could’ve done that a lot sooner,” Steve bit out, agitated.

Snapping on a pair of gloves, Bucky twisted, looking back at Steve. “Hey punk, you wanna quit your goddamn complaining and hold the lady’s hand here while we get to work?”

Steve glared at Bucky (which he seemed utterly unaffected by, the fucking jerk) before he walked over and took Darcy’s left hand in both of his. Her eyes were already on his and Steve sucked in a deep breath, taking a moment to calm down while Banner quietly gave Bucky instructions as they started clearing the blood. Steve’s lips ticked downward over how delicate her bones felt under his large palms, how easily breakable; _Jesus Christ_ , everything about Darcy was so fucking breakable and yet—

He looked down at her, the woman who took a goddamn infinity stone in her hands not once but _twice_ , who somehow managed to raise the fucking dead and who refused to die herself… and Steve knew then like he knew the sky was blue, as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire world: she wasn’t breakable.

Darcy Lewis was made of _vibranium_.

Her body might break, her bones might shatter, her skin might rip and tear, but there was something planted deep inside of her that stood back up again and again and again. It was the same living, fire-breathing thing that stared Steve in the face all those weeks ago when she begged the team to let her go to Boston, to let her be the one to face the danger for them, knowing she was the little guy, the underdog. The woman was a goddamn revolution wrapped in soft skin and kind eyes. 

And he loved her. 

The realization came upon him suddenly with the force of a gunshot to the chest; it struck him without mercy and it was a physical sensation. 

Steve _loved_ her and he had for some time. 

He felt dizzy, like he used to before the serum when he would stand up too quickly and his blood pressure would drop. Her hand was warm between both of his and she was looking up into his eyes, the color there bright and violent, framed in thick dark lashes. There was pain living in her gaze and a good dose of fear, but beyond that, if Steve searched long enough, he saw his own truth staring back at him clear as the northern sky: _I love you, I love you, I love you._

Maybe that was why all of this hurt so fucking much, maybe that was why she threw herself headfirst into a world that promised to eat her alive. God, he had to fix this, he had to make it right.

She had to _know_ and Steve was so afraid that she didn’t. Not yet, anyway.

“Would you look at that?” 

The words ripped Steve from his thoughts and there was a second that he was sure that Banner had heard the truth that was pulsing through Steve’s veins, pounding in his ears, but then he snapped back to himself and turned with a frown.

“How bad is it, Banner?” Steve asked, fighting hard to keep his voice normal, unable to look away from Darcy.

“It’s happening again. The bleeding is… stopping on its own, do you see that, James?”

Steve leaned over Darcy now to get a closer look. 

Banner was right. The jagged lacerations were still a shocking color of red against her pale skin, but they weren’t oozing blood like before.

Bucky’s eyes were flickering over the wounds, his gloved hands gently twisting her arm to look at the underside. He blinked and leaned back, “If she’s healing, why won’t her skin close though?”

“Maybe it will,” Banner guessed, shrugging his shoulders. “There’s just so much we don’t know about this. But until then, we need to clean these and bandage them.”

“Is it gonna scar?” Darcy slurred suddenly and all eyes flew to her face. The three men hesitated, clearly uncomfortable in telling her than it very well might—and badly at that. But then before Steve could break the news, Darcy added, sounding as though her tongue was swollen, “’Cuz then I’ll really be the boy wizard.”

A laugh punched out of Steve’s chest and tears pricked in his eyes as he lifted his gaze to the ceiling, blinking quickly. Darcy looked proud of her joke and Steve shook his head, grinning widely at her. 

“Darcy Lewis,” he murmured with a lift of his brows, his voice going soft, “The Girl Who Lived.”

And, Steve thought privately to himself, she really was.

* * *

Darcy screamed herself unconscious.

Even though Banner had given her a fair amount of morphine, it wasn’t enough. Not when they brought out the antiseptic and ruthlessly doused every inch of her wounds (wounds that refused to close and fully heal). They were like jagged ravines, some deeper than others, some wider, but they traveled from the tips of her fingers, up her forearm with no clear pattern. The center of her palm was severely burned with a clear charred outline of where the Soul Stone had been (he knew now why he had smelled burning flesh earlier). 

Steve had tried to distract her, tried to talk her through it while Bucky held her thrashing body still and Banner did the careful but merciless work. Eventually, Darcy went limp, passing out cold and when she did, Steve nearly collapsed in relief.

After a thorough cleaning, they bandaged her fingers, hand, and forearm hand with care, wrapping her up like a mummy. Her vitals remained strong and Banner, despite the sheen of sweat on his face, was pleased with her progress.

Steve, however, still wanted to shake the living hell out of the woman.

On the other side of the clinic, Bucky was washing up, scrubbing his hands carefully when Steve approached. Banner was busy entering information from Darcy’s chart into a computer, the glow of the screen reflecting off of his glasses. Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky shot Steve a small grin.

“He’s a good man, Banner. I like him.”

Steve nodded but said nothing and Bucky shut off the water, grabbing a couple of paper towels to dry his hands. Steve watched and felt something rush through him, a flood of affection. He opened his mouth a few times and then closed it before trying once more.

“Thank you, Buck. I… _thank you_ ,” Steve shook his head, his voice very quiet.

Bucky searched his face and then tossed the paper towels in a nearby trash can and stepped forward. 

“I know that look on your face.” The dark-haired man’s lips curved and he gently placed his palm on the side of Steve’s neck. Callouses scratched at the thin, sensitive skin there and Steve’s pulse jumped in his throat. Steve’s hands fell to Bucky’s waist, fingers digging into the hard muscle there, needing to hold onto something solid, needing to touch him, this man he was so fucking grateful for. Another small step and Bucky leaned close, bumping his nose against Steve’s tenderly before giving him the lightest of kisses. Warm lips brushed over his once, twice, a third time.

“Talk to her,” Bucky’s breath fanned out over Steve’s mouth. His eyes flashed open and they were a sea of glass, they flickered between both of Steve’s. A cool metal hand rested over his chest. “Tell her what’s in your heart, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes slid shut and he tipped his face towards the ground. Bucky cupped his jaw and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead.

“I’m gonna give you two some privacy,” he said quietly and Steve’s head lifted, surprised, eyes flashing open. Bucky gave him a wane smile, “But if you need me, I’ll come.”

“Buck—”

He shook his head firmly, “No. This one is between you two. Darcy doesn’t even know me yet, not really, and she won’t be able to unless you go in there and spill your guts.”

“’M’not goin’ to spill my guts.”

“Bullshit Steven,” Bucky sneered and then gripped the back of his neck and shook him a little. “That’s _exactly_ what you’re about to do if you know what’s good for you.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you wish you could,” Bucky laughed now, a low, rumbling thing that instantly got Steve’s wholehearted attention. He slowly skimmed his eyes up and down Bucky’s body, lips curling into a wicked grin as images from their _vigorous_ activities earlier flashed through his mind. Blue-gray eyes watched Steve size him up raptly and then Bucky groaned with no small amount of drama. “Quit that, punk. Those doe eyes aren’t getting you out of this. Every time, I swear to god, every fucking I’ve gotta come dig you outta your messes. Where would you be without me, huh? Where?”

Steve had a snippy reply on the tip of his tongue but it flit away as soon as he thought about Bucky’s question—really thought.

“I don’t know, Buck,” Steve told him after a long moment of silence, his voice warm and low. “I don’t know where I’d be.”

And it was true. Steve didn’t know, had no idea, but something deep down told him he wouldn’t have liked what he would become without Bucky. And they both knew it. 

Bucky made a low sound in his throat and ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, his eyes flicking over Steve’s face, going soft around the edges. 

“Hair’s gettin’ long,” he commented with a soft tug and Steve had to fight not to shut his eyes at the feeling of Bucky gripping a handful of his hair, but fuck it felt good. “You trying to copy my style, punk?”

Steve snorted. 

“What style? Homeless?”

Bucky yanked hard enough that Steve winced and the dark-haired man grinned ruefully.

“Shut up and go talk to our girl,” the words formed around a quiet grin and then Bucky blinked and rolled his tongue in his mouth, like he was tasting how they felt. Dark brows lifted and his eyes flashed as he wet his lips and tugged the bottom one between his teeth before slowly releasing it. “Sounds nice.”

Steve watched, feeling that same dizziness overtake him from before, strong enough that he might stagger under it—under _them_. He was smiling before he knew it, bright and true.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “it does.”

* * *

Thor Odinson had thought he understood power; he thought he knew what it was, what it looked like, tasted like, smelled like, felt like. After all, lightning dwelled in his blood, torrential storms swirled at his fingertips, countless lives had been snuffed out under his blows; he was a god and life, for him, stretched out for a millennia. He had seen kingdoms fall and wars erupt; he had seen the clouds part and the sky rip itself open for courageous warriors to ride into the welcoming, golden halls of Valhalla.

But in the days following Thanos, following the Snap, the death of half the universe and the slow death of his own heart, Thor wondered for the first time in his long life if he was being stretched too thin. He was in danger of tearing, he knew it intrinsically, and if he did indeed tear, he wasn’t sure if the pieces could ever be sewn back together again.

He was wrong.

Gods, he was wrong about so much.

Power was not in a hammer, did not live in lightning bolts and peals of thunder. True power had roots that ran as deep as Yggadrasil itself, breathing life into the lungs of young babes and strength into old bones. It peeled back the veil of death and ransacked its treasure horde placing its brightest star right into his palms.

As Thor held Jane’s face between his hands, his lips locked over hers, he knew then.

True power was love.

The heavens may fall, the earth may crack and break and be forged anew, but one thing remained and would always remain, and he would kneel before it in awe.

Jane’s lashes were long and dark against her cheek and her sharp brows were tucked in close together and suddenly Thor was back on the roof with her in New Mexico, gazing at the vastness of the galaxy from this tiny, inconsequential planet that somehow held the most precious, fragile beings, and Thor fell in love with her all over again. 

He pressed his lips to hers once again and his hands shook.

“Jane,” he pulled away with a wet gasp and he felt his heart lift its face to the sun and finally begin to mend.

She smiled at him, as bright as the night sky, and then she was laughing and holding onto his wrists with both of her hands, nuzzling the side of her face into his warm palm. His heart clenched and he thought he might choke on it, or on whatever emotion was welling up in a hot lump at the base of his throat. And then Jane’s amber eyes flashed open and she blinked, looking around the room, coming back to herself.

“Where’s Darcy?” She asked with a frown, her questions speeding up in concern. “Wasn’t she here? I saw her—she looked hurt. What happened?”

Thor’s heart seized in his chest, anger flooding through his blood because how could he _forget_? 

“Thor,” Jane warned, going very still, “what happened?”

His mouth dropped open but no words came, instead, the god whipped around, broken glass clinking and cracking under his weight, but Tony called out from where he and Natasha were collecting the stone. 

“She’s alright, Point Break,” his dark eyes flicked up and there was something unreadable there. He hesitated and then, “It’s bad but not like last time; she’s awake. Cap and Barnes took her to the clinic. Banner is already waiting for her there.”

Jane rose to her feet, her eyes blazing. “Will someone tell me what happened to her?”

“Come, Jane, we will go see her.” Thor stood as well and took her hand. He swallowed, his heart in his voice. “There is much to tell.”

* * *

He dreamed of her.

Bucky hadn’t told Steve, hadn’t planned on saying a word about it until he was sure where the other man stood, but every night since he had been pulled from the stone, Bucky dreamed about Darcy Lewis. 

Maybe even before then.

It was never the same dream, but it was always the same woman. He could never remember the words exchanged between them, but he knew the shape of her smile, the way her eyes would squint and her nose would wrinkle when she was truly, completely happy. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew the feeling of her touch and that she liked to absently play with his fingers and her voice; _fucking hell_ he would hear that voice for the rest of his goddamn life.

It was a voice like warm sunshine on his skin at Ebbets Field, like the spray of the salt sea at Coney Island, a voice like _home_.

After Steve had slipped inside and closed the door to Darcy’s room, Bucky had debated going back to his own bed and trying to get some shut eye. Instead, he chose to wait in the clinic, because he meant it when he told Steve that if he needed him, he would be there. 

Settling down in a rolling office chair that was almost too small for him, Bucky slouched, folding his hands over his chest with his legs bent at the knee and spread out before him. He aimlessly pushed back and forth with his heels, making sure he was never not facing the clinic entrance. It was a habit he wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to shake, no matter how many things Shuri pulled from his head. Some things would just stick.

Never having his back to a door was one of them.

And he was glad for it when his eyes caught the sudden arrival of Thor and Jane in the window a few seconds before they walked through the door. 

Bucky straightened in his chair, instantly on high alert. 

Thor’s gaze swept over the place, ignoring his presence, before landing on the private rooms in the back of the clinic. Target set, the blond marched in, pulling Jane along slightly behind him.

Bucky eyed the god silently, his brute-like approach, and his hackled raised. He had watched over the last few days how Thor had played his cards with Darcy, placing himself between her and Steve like a wall of impenetrable muscle whenever Steve tried to reach out to her. Bucky wasn’t even sure if Darcy had been aware of what Thor was doing, but Bucky was. Bucky had seen it and it _pissed him off._

Well, now he could give the god a taste of his own medicine. 

Steve was vulnerable, not really himself tonight, and there was something savage that lived in Bucky, would always live in Bucky, and it gave him the ability to not just be Steve’s shield but his sword, too.

Without warning, Bucky gracefully unfolded himself from the chair, knowing full well that the movement itself was innocuous but to the trained eye, they’d see the threat in the set of his body. He casually rose to his feet and as he did, Thor’s eyes darted his way. 

But Thor wasn’t the type to be easily intimidated and Bucky knew that, appreciated it in a fighter, and at the same time decided it still didn’t mean shit.

Thor kept moving forward like a bulldozer and so Bucky stepped directly in his path, blocking the way. Behind Thor, Jane’s mouth fell open in agitation, her face pinching like she had taken a bite out of a big lemon.

And Bucky honestly didn’t give a flying fuck if she was upset or not. Not right now. Not when Steve was in there baring his soul. He wasn’t playing games, not tonight, not after what he saw. It was one thing to know that Darcy had died for him, it was another thing to see how it happened, to watch it unfold.

That kind of thing changed a person.

“Step aside, James,” Thor growled and Bucky just tipped his head to the side.

“You’re gonna give him a minute.” It wasn’t the Winter Soldier that spoke through him, no, this was _Brooklyn_. This was all James Buchanan Barnes and the razor edge growing up watching a punk like Steve Roger’s troublemaking back had given him. Thor’s eyes flashed dangerously but the dark-haired man was made of stone as he repeated slowly, “I _said_ you’re gonna give him a goddamn minute with her.”

The two faced off and Thor’s gaze simmered but Bucky refused to back down even an inch.

“I’m glad we understand one another,” Bucky told him with a smirk and then he turned and slowly walked back to his chair, calmly sitting back down, watching the big god and silently daring Thor to try it.

Jane looked like she wanted to rip him a new one but Bucky ignored her, keeping his eyes solely on the main threat, waiting to see what he would do.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Thor gave way. Bucky watched in no small amount of satisfaction as he and Jane moved to sit across the way. Jane hissed something quietly at Thor and it sounded suspiciously like she was calling him a bastard and Bucky nearly laughed.

She was right, Bucky was a bastard, and he’d be one every day of his life if it meant protecting Steve. 

Sometimes protecting Steve didn’t look like bloodying his knuckles, sometimes it looked like sitting in a clinic for an awkward thirty minutes of strained silence.

* * *

Bits of information came to her slowly as she drifted in and out of sleep, but what she registered first and most strongly was a knot of emotion that twisted in her stomach. She ignored it and focused on other things—there was a constant and familiar low beep in her ears and a pressure on her left index finger. Cold, crisp sheets covered her legs, a sterilized smell in the air, an itchy feeling resting just under her nose. One of her arms was very stiff and very sore and she wasn’t sure why any of it was happening for a few minutes until she opened her eyes.

Blurry beige bandages were tightly wrapped around her right arm from fingertip to elbow and it made moving it stiff and uncomfortable. Darcy scratched at it with her left hand and felt the tender skin beneath the bandages jolt in pain.

“Don’t pick at that. Just let it be for now.”

Going still, Darcy’s eyes connected with Steve’s in the chair next to her bed. The memories came back the instant she saw him and, with them, a mix of emotions she was too exhausted to try and sort through. She had gone for the stone after seeing Thor in his grief, Steve (and Bucky) had tried to stop her and she had said some pretty dumb and revealing shit to them both before grabbing—

Darcy gave a quiet groan and screwed her eyes shut. The knot of tension in her stomach was horrifyingly familiar and also terrifyingly new and she didn’t want to deal with it. Not now, not with Steve sitting there looking at her like he was.

“Hi,” Darcy mumbled after a long moment.

“Hi,” Steve echoed back, his tone quiet.

She glanced at him and then around the room, finding it hard to hold his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. Finally, she frowned, realizing what she was looking for, _who_ was missing. 

“Where’s—where’s Bucky?”

“Outside,” Steve told her quietly while staying so very still in his chair, like he was afraid if he moved, she would flee (which was right, give the pulsing need rushing through her veins at the moment). “He’s giving us some space.”

Her eyes grew three times their size and the heartrate monitor jumped with an obnoxious beep. Steve’s eyes slid to the machine for a flash of a second before they flicked back to her. 

“Darcy, sweetheart, we need to talk.”

 _Sweetheart_. 

Distantly, she remembered Steve calling her that a lot tonight. She also remembered him carrying her to the Med Bay. Right after she flat out told him—

Wincing, Darcy’s eyes slowly slid shut. Her lips pressed together and twisted as she asked in a quiet voice, “Can it wait?”

There was a long moment of silence. She felt his eyes bore into her. Finally, Darcy forced herself to look at him and when she did, she saw the anger clear on his face. His jaw was clenched and there was a certain way he held himself, coiled up, like he was biting back saying something he shouldn’t. Her eyes dropped to the armrest on his chair and the way his hand gripped it, the way his fingers tapped in rapid succession.

“No,” Steve finally said with a sharp tone that left no room for arguing otherwise, “it can’t. Life can’t just pause when you don’t want to deal with something, Darcy. Not when you… what you said…” His mouth snapped shut and Steve turned his head to the side, glaring heatedly at the wall for a few moments of strained silence, his nostrils flared as he took a few deep breaths. 

Darcy realized then, that at some point during the night, the man before her had been pushed to an edge she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him fall over. 

“Why are you doing this to yourself, Darcy?” Steve snapped, suddenly, as though his restraint could no longer take the pressure. Angrily, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Help me understand because I don’t. You’re killing yourself and it’s like you don’t give a _damn_ about it or anyone it affects.”

He didn’t blink and his eyes never left her face and Darcy felt life she was caught in crosshairs. Her gaze dropped to her bandaged arm and when she spoke, her voice was so small even she had to strain to hear it.

“If I’m going to die soon anyway—”

“—You’re _not_ going to die. We’ll figure out, I’m going to figure it out.”

She lifted her gaze then and tried to meet his eyes, but they were like armor piercing bullets, seeing through all of her shit. _God_ , the man was so fucking intense.

But she was stubborn as hell, always had been. 

Biting her lip, Darcy’s brows lifted slightly as her fingers played with the edge of her bandage. “Whether you figure it out or not, Steve, my mind is made up. I’m a grown woman. I can do that, you know.”

“I’m aware.”

Steve didn’t move a muscle as he stared her down and then, suddenly, he shifted back in his chair with a loud exhale and ran his tongue over his teeth. Darcy watched him, her expression guarded, and she felt it—like she was trying to draw new lines between them.

“I’m glad you have him, you know.”

Steve’s eyes flashed to hers. 

Darcy held his stare and her shoulder lifted uncomfortably, almost to her ear. “I don’t want you to think—I…” She paused and sucked in a lungful of air, wetting her lips, forcing her voice to be firmer than anything inside of her currently felt. “I’m _glad_ for you, Steve. I’m glad you have him back. And I’m sorry if I’ve made things complicated, especially tonight. I didn’t mean to ever get in the way—”

“What gave you the impression you would be in the way?”

Darcy’s eyes were perfect circles as she blinked at Steve. Her lips parted but before she could get another word in, he continued. 

“When have I _ever_ given you that impression?” Steve shook his head, scoffing. “You ran from me, Darcy, expecting the worst. You _expected_ me to hurt you.”

Her jaw clenched and her blood was buzzing under her skin. It was like the man had a roadmap to her heart and knew not just where to hit but where to _dig_. Something prickled in her chest and her voice turned sharp and cold and hard.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t the first time someone has been with me and then left because they found someone better.” She sat up in the bed, the stiff sheets crinkling at her waist. Darcy ripped her eyes away from him, jutting her chin out as she purged the ugly truth from her soul. “You know that, Steve, I told you myself. So, _excuse me_ for going off of my personal history.”

“I never left.”

Her stomach jolted and slowly, Darcy forced herself to life her eyes.

Truth was shining there in his blue depths, unmistakable, like pyres on a dark, starless night lighting the way home. Steve shook his head and lifted his hand, like he wanted to reach for her and then stopped himself, saying again, softer, “I never left you, Darcy.”

A pause.

“But—”

“Everything happened so fast, I didn’t get any time to talk to you and I should have. I fucked up. I should have talked to you back up on the roof. Darcy… you… you brought Bucky back from the _dead_ but even before that you brought me back from an even worse place.” 

She remembered suddenly, vividly, the intimidating, almost cold man that had offered her a wet rag to wash a handprint of blood off of her mouth in the safehouse bathroom, and then as quickly as it came, the flash ended. 

Steve’s brows pulled together, his mouth tightening at the corners. 

“You’re not in the way, you’re not an obstacle or a nuisance, or a one-time way to scratch an itch. Christ, I never would have…” Steve’s voice dropped off, like the words fell off a cliff and then he was blinking very fast and reaching for Darcy’s good hand and she let him take hold of it, even though her brain was screaming at her _don’t, don’t, don’t_. Steve swallowed, his voice low and warm, “I’ve ached for you for a _long_ time and I didn’t even know it.”

“Don’t,” her face crumpled slightly, but she didn’t pull her hand from his.

He frowned and whispered, “Don’t what? Don’t love you? It’s too late for that. I fell for you hard, Darcy Lewis, but you were a soft place to land.”

Darcy tried very hard to think of something to say but came up with absolutely nothing and she flicked her gaze up to the harsh overheard light, letting it blind her, just so she could look anywhere but at his face. Her heart twisted into an even tighter knot and she wished that she could get up out of this bed and run back to the safety and privacy of Thor’s room.

“Darcy,” Steve called her name and a silent, bitter laugh crawled out of her throat.

Somehow, this man had thoroughly disarmed her, and Darcy found that she didn’t have anything she could respond with but the God-honest truth. 

“Don’t choose me,” she whispered fiercely, her eyes very bright. “I know me, _I_ wouldn’t choose me.”

There was a long moment of quiet and then—

“I wish you’d quit telling me what you think I want and let me choose for myself,” there was a deep sadness in Steve’s voice and he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his warm finger tracing along the shell and then down her cheek and along the line of her jaw and Darcy’s eyes closed of their own accord. “Believe it or not: I want you, Darcy. I choose you.”

Her eyes flew open, wild and panicked. She pulled her hand from his, flinching away from him. The heartrate monitor beeped, beeped, beeped in a staccato rhythm.

“Steve, please don’t,” her voice broke, cracked. “Please don’t leave Bucky over me. I can’t live with that.”

Blue eyes the color of clear northern oceans just stared at her. “Darcy, I’m never leaving Bucky.”

Silence, except for the sound of her panting breath.

“I don’t understand.”

Steve’s hand came up to rub at his jaw, brushing through the short, wiry hair of his beard. He squinted slightly, like he was searching for the right words. Finally—

“What if I told you there’s room in my heart for you both?”

Darcy went very, very still. 

“Bucky and I,” Steve stopped and inhaled deeply through his nose, his expression opened and softened and in it was something living and moving, and Darcy knew what it was, recognized its familiar face. “We have a lot of love to give, the two of us, and while we love each other, bleed for one another, until the end of the line… we’ve always dreamt of more. Maybe we’re greedy, but god, both of us have been searching for our whole lives for—”

“Steve,” Darcy said suddenly very alert and almost afraid. Her heart was throbbing in her chest, pounding its way up her throat. If she looked closely, she could see the tremor in her good hand. “I don’t even—are you asking…?”

She remembered, then, what he had told her on the roof, his words which hadn’t fully registered then but clanged like a gong in her mind now.

_Yes, I grieve for Bucky every day and I miss him all the goddamn time. But is it so hard to believe that I could want you as well? That maybe, there’s something for us here, too?_

He had tried to tell her, she realized. But she hadn’t understood, had no idea how to comprehend something like… this.

“I’m not asking for any answers right now,” Steve told her, quietly, and then lifted his brows, his tone sure and levelheaded. “But I do want to clear the air and make my intention undeniable: I want you both. I don’t want just one or the other. I want you both, god help me. Bucky and I—we want a third.” Darcy inhaled sharply, a slew of emotions flooding her all at once and as if he read it clear as day, Steve held up a hand. “Before you panic, Bucky knows I’m talking to you about this, he knows about you and me, and,” Steve gave her a small, rueful grin here, “he wants the chance to at least get to know you. Nothing is expected and there is no pressure, you hear me, sweetheart? No pressure. All I’m asking is that you think about it and that if you have questions,” Steve ducked down and caught her gaze here, giving her a meaningful look. “That you don’t let them swirl in your head but that you come talk to me—to me _and_ Bucky about it. That is… if you’re interested.”

Was she interested?

 _Fuck_.

Darcy was gob smacked. Her brain was broken, left the building, floating in outer space somewhere. Her mouth, which so often flew off the handle without her permission, was utterly speechless at Steve’s suggestion. It was a dangerous thing and she was so far out of her depth, it wasn’t even comical. 

“I’ve never…” Darcy tried and then swallowed and had to clear her throat. There was a hard furrow in her brows as she shook her head, “Steve, this isn’t exactly something that’s an everyday thing. I don’t really know what to say. I’ve never considered… something like this. Do you realize what you’re asking?”

He tipped his head down, looking at the floor as a nervous hand reached up to grab at the back of his neck. There was a smile in his voice, “Believe me, I know what I’m asking. Bucky and I aren’t exactly your average, everyday people. We’ve… we’ve never been.”

A thought struck her and her stomach turned cold. Slowly, she lifted her eyes, her gaze heavy. “What if I can’t? What if—what if for me it’s just you?”

Steve glanced up and for a long time just stared at her.

“Then we’ll figure something out,” he assured her and seemed to consider his next words. He lifted one hand, slowly, and very gently brushed a thumb over her cheekbone. “Because I love you and I don’t know how to stop.”

The words washed over her like a wave of light the second time around and Darcy’s mouth fell open, her eyes closed, as they sunk into her skin and wrapped around her bones.

“Back at the safehouse it hit me, you know,” Darcy admitted quietly, keeping her eyes closed. “When I thought you were going to die—wait,” her eyes shot open and flicked to him, “why do people always wait to find this shit out when the other is about to die?”

A laugh jumped out of Steve’s chest and he grinned at her and it was full of affection. “That’s a good question and I don’t have a goddamn clue.”

Blushing, she made a face and then cleared her throat carefully.

“When I thought you…” She stopped and shook her head, wishing she was more eloquent in moments like this, but Steve was watching her like he hung on every word that left her lips, regardless. That brought an even warmer flush to her cheeks. “I—there was a moment that I realized that you, Steve, were the kind of man I would _want_ to fall in love with.” Her eyes flicked away from his and she ran a finger over the bandage on her arm. “I don’t think I realized at that point that I already had.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” the words rushed out of Steve’s lungs, “can I hug you?”

Darcy looked at him and looked at him and looked at him and tried to hold it together but she had almost died again tonight and there wasn’t much else she wanted in this world than to be held by the man she loved. Gasping, she said nothing but found herself nodding and opening her arms in invitation or in askance. 

There was a metallic scraping sound as Steve pushed back the chair and rose to his feet. She scooted over, making room for him on the small bed, and Steve crawling in beside her with all of his bulk, pressing his solid thigh against hers as he pulled her into his chest, careful to avoid squashing her injured arm. Darcy didn’t even try to hide the shudder that rolled through her as she wrapped around him and clutched at his middle with her one good hand, fingers twisting in the material of his shirt. Large, warm hands ran over her hair and down her back and Steve was pressing a long kiss to the top of her head.

When he pulled away, she heard his throat work as his voice took on an odd sound when he muttered out, “You nearly broke my heart tonight, you know that?”

“I’m not apologizing for what I did,” Darcy mumbled as she nuzzled her face into his chest shamelessly.

“We’ll talk about that later,” Steve rumbled lowly, “maybe when you’re not laid up in a hospital bed.”

“I feel _fine_.”

He pulled back and snagged her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Lifting her face, Steve’s eyes darted between both of hers and his gaze burned. “Darcy, make me a promise?” She visibly stiffened and his eyes narrowed. “Talk me before you go for that stone again.”

Darcy didn’t respond, choosing instead to bury her face back into his chest. He didn’t push it and was wise not to.

After a long while, her head spinning with things she wasn’t quite ready to voice, Darcy found it in herself to ask, “How’re we going to do this, Steve?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, running a hand over the length of her back. “One day at a time, sweetheart. One day at a time. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t answer me earlier. Stubborn woman,” she could practically hear the way he rolled his eyes which made her secretly smile. 

Eventually, her eyelids started to droop, her muscles growing heavy with exhaustion. Steve carefully extracted her from his arms and laid her back into bed, tucking the sheets around her.

“Close your eyes,” he told her, softly. “I’ve got you.”

* * *

She awoke very suddenly and had no idea why for a few seconds until she realized several things in very quick succession; the door to her room was open; someone very small was lying in her bed petting her hair; her arm was itching to high heaven.

“How long is she usually out?” A feminine voice curled above her and Darcy gasped, fumbling to set up in bed and subsequently knocking her head into someone’s chin.

“ _Ow_ ,” Jane hissed, hands flying to her jaw.

Twisting in the bed, tangling herself up in the sheets, Darcy stared at the tiny astrophysicist at her side with wide eyes, her pulse leaping in her throat. 

“Jane?” She breathed in disbelief, and then before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around Jane’s neck, shouting (because she was going to burst if she didn’t). “JANE! _OH MY GOD, JANE!_ ” 

Thin arms wrapped tightly around Darcy’s waist and the two friends held each other, both of them crying.

“I thought—I thought you were gone for good,” Darcy said thickly into Jane’s hair. “Oh god, I was so scared.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m back. I’m back.”

Darcy let out a choked laugh, “You are _never_ allowed to die on me again.”

Jane squawked, her mouth falling open as she pulled back from the hug, but still kept her arms around Darcy’s waist. Her whiskey eyes narrowed dangerously and there was something flashing in them.

Rage.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Jane’s eyes burned like a bonfire and the heat licked at her skin. She let go of Darcy completely and reached for her bandaged arm. “You are one to talk. What in the world is going on, I leave and you start touching infinity stones?!”

Darcy grimaced and then covered the expression with a cough, tugging her arm away from Jane’s grip. “Technically, you didn’t leave—you died. _And_ you touched an infinity stone first. Remember the creepy red one in London?”

“When in the history of the world have I ever been a good example to follow?” Jane asked incredulously.

“That is a very good question,” rumbled a deep voice from behind Darcy. She whirled around and locked eyes on Thor. He was sitting in the same chair Steve had used. His expression peaceful and there was a light in his eyes that could only be only thing: rebirth. The god smiled at her the longer she stared and it wasn’t one that showed teeth, but small and true and just for her. It was a smile that had been to hell and back and made it through the other side.

He understood.

Tears pricked unintentionally in Darcy’s eyes and her brows lifted in the middle. She nodded wordlessly at him. Next to her, sitting cross-legged on the bed, Jane pointed at finger at the god.

“See? Thor agrees,” she sniffed haughtily. “Bad, _bad_ idea. I am an awful example.”

After a moment, Darcy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but I got people back.”

The room fell quiet and for all of her joking and teasing and even her anger, Jane’s face smoothed out. Her eyes dropped to the bed and she added quietly, “Thor said it stopped your heart the first time.”

Well, Darcy had nothing she could say to that. 

“I’m really glad you’re here, Jane,” she told her friend instead. “I’ve missed you so much…” and then her lips quirked and her voice transformed into that of one who was longsuffering. “Even if the first thing you are doing is yelling at me while I’m sick and in the hospital and covered in bandages recovering from bringing you back from another dimension or whatever the fuck the Soul Stone is.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“I meant every word.”

The two women just stared at one another for a long moment before breaking into laughter. Darcy’s heart lifted at the sound.

* * *

“There was another spike, but the location keeps moving. We cannot pin it down.”

Thanos stared down at the map, watching the earth rotate as the energy reader chased the ever-shifting spike. His voice, when he spoke, was toneless. “Clever.”

Keeping his eyes on the map, Thanos flexed his fingers in the gauntlet, feeling the tight strings of the stones roll over his knuckles. They coiled, ready to answer his call. 

“That is two spikes in three days, my Lord,” Proxima Midnight told him needlessly but he caught the tinge of worry in her words and his eyes flashed upwards.

She held his gaze for a moment before dipping her chin and taking a step backwards. The Titan had spent the last week in the regeneration chamber and his wounds had almost completely healed. In that time, he knew there was a chance the humans would learn the stone’s secrets. Humans were resilient in ways he had yet to encounter, but he was not one to turn down a challenge.

“They’ve found a way to open the stone,” Thanos narrowed his eyes at the map. He inhaled, quieter, “They’ve found a stonekeeper.”

_And I will find them._

A stonekeeper was dangerous. It was becoming clear to him that the earth required not just a simple balancing to their world, no, this planet was beyond mending. It deserved an extermination and he was going to enjoy it. He was not a creature without mercy, but the humans were pushing his hand.

Simmering, he felt his lips curl as he asked, “How soon will your forces be ready?”

Proxima Midnight lifted her eyes and they glittered in the darkness.

“They are ready now.”

“Good,” Thanos smiled.

Truly, the humans brought this upon themselves.

“Release them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jane is back! Steve and Darcy used their adult words! Bucky threatened Thor! Thanos is being bad! What a rush.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> And now? Now, I'm going to take another nap.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, after almost twenty days of feeling like shit, I finally am recovering from COVID-19. Just a general announcement, this isn’t a sickness to play around with. I had no underlying health issues, I eat well, sleep well and it was one of the most brutal things I’ve ever gone through. I still am trying to treat some of the symptoms, it's ridiculous. Be kind to others and wear a mask.

“How’d it go?” 

Bucky twisted and turned around, walking backwards into the darkened room, dark brows lifting expectantly. 

Steve didn’t answer right away, and Bucky waited, heart thumping hard in his chest. The blond had been quiet ever since he left Darcy’s room at the clinic; saying simply that she had fallen asleep and needed to rest. There had been a tense moment when Thor walked by Steve in a boiling silence with Jane who openly gave Bucky the finger and an impressive evil eye (which caused him to wonder if it had been a mistake making an enemy of the tiny woman, but only time would tell). Steve had tossed a questioning glance to Bucky as the pair swept by, but he shrugged it off with a wave of his hand, opting instead to simply follow Steve out of the Med Bay silent, alert, and oddly nervous. 

It had been a long time since he felt nervous but the flutter in his stomach was undeniable. The only clue the blond had given him was a slight curl of his lips as they reached their door.

“I spilled my guts just like you told me to,” Steve finally admitted as he leaned against the closed door, his hands locked behind his back. Slowly, his eyes slid shut and Bucky heard the air _whoosh_ out of his lungs as his chin dropped to his chest.

A beat of silence. 

Bucky shifted on his feet, impatient.

“ _And?_ ” 

Steve’s electric blue eyes shot open. “And now we wait,” he shrugged, voice quiet. “The ball’s in her court. She and I worked out our miscommunication, or at least a good portion of it. She knows how I feel, what we want—or hope for, and I told her I don’t expect an answer from her anytime soon, that she has time to think.”

Bucky swallowed, processing. He wet his lips, “Did she seem…” he shook his head, words failing him for a moment, then he squinted, “open to it?”

“Hard to tell, Buck,” Steve sighed with a rueful grin. He lifted a hand to grab at the back of his neck, rolling his head to the side, like the muscles there were throbbing. The bones cracked in response and Bucky cringed. 

“How many times do I need to tell you to quit doing that, punk? You know it’s bad for you.”

“Yes _mother_ ,” Steve sassed with a roll of his eyes and then continued. “Like you said earlier, it’s hard because Darcy doesn’t know you yet and you don’t know her outside of whatever happened between the two of you and the stone.” Steve shot him a searching look, but Bucky was careful to keep his face perfectly blank. “It’s still a lot to ask of someone, especially when it’s not crossed their radar before. I think it’ll be good to talk to her some more, once the shock wears off a bit.”

“Of course.” Bucky nodded, his eyes dropping to the floor as his mind spun in this new reality. It wasn’t something he was used to, being on the other side of things like this. Normally, in the past, at least from what he remembered, it had always been Bucky who knew the girl—not that Steve had ever shown much interest in a female outside of Peggy Carter, god rest her soul, and the pin-up characters he sketched out for the Howlies.

And then a thought struck him, and Bucky’s head shot up, “Can I talk to her?”

A slow growing sweet smile spread across Steve’s face, like thick cream blending into coffee. For some reason, he looked relieved.

“I think that would be good,” he said, his voice dropping low and soft before adding, “for both of you. See if this is something you really want, too. But Buck… I need to tell you, I don’t want to lose her. If for whatever reason you two don’t work out, I’m going to need figure something out. You’re my soul but she’s—she’s got me by the heartstrings. I need you both. I want you both.”

Bucky thought about that and hummed low in his throat. “How about you stop planning as if the worst is going to happen. Didn’t Sam say that was… what did he call it, catastrophizing?”

Steve’s mouth tightened. “I like to be prepared.”

“Man with the plan.”

“You’re damn right. It’s gotten me this far, hasn’t it?”

Bucky’s lips quirked as he drawled out, “Never said it was a _good_ plan.” 

“Everyone’s a critic.”

Grinning widely at Steve’s griping, Bucky reached up between his shoulder blades to tug at the material of his ruined shirt. He pulled it over his head, wadded it up, and chucked it across the room in a corner. Glancing back, he knew his hair was all over the place, could feel that he looked a mess, and yet he still caught the heat of Steve’s gaze roving over him from across the room like it was the first time he had been shown bare flesh.

Steve… he had a way of looking at people that was _physical_ , like a finger slowly trailing up every bone in his fucking spine. 

_Jesus H. Christ_ , Bucky loved him.

It took a hell of a person to know him like Steve knew him, in all the ways he wished another person would never know him, to see all of the scars, all of the damage, all of the filth, and still choose to be with him. 

It was an addicting thing—being wanted.

Bucky had no problem understanding why Darcy had fallen hard for the man; he knew how Steve got when there was something he wanted (and it was clear that he wanted Darcy). Nothing stopped him.

Apparently, not even an ancient Norse god.

“She’s not gonna, I don’t know, run from me if I do approach her, right?” Bucky asked after a moment of gathering his thoughts, adjusting the waistband of his low-slung black sweats until it snapped against his skin. It was a genuine concern. He hardly had spent any time around her and the times he had seen her were either in a hospital bed or when she was fleeing a room the instant he and Steve walked in. If this was going to work, Bucky needed to make sure he wasn’t going to scare her off.

“I don’t think so,” Steve told him, distracted as his eyes skimmed lazily down his torso with heavy appreciation. “Not now at least.”

“Good,” Bucky grinned while running a hand through his tangled hair, preening slightly under Steve’s attention. Then his gaze flicked off to the side, a plan forming in his brain.

Steve pushed off the door with his shoulder and walked over, his footsteps slow and steady and silent, like a predator, and then he was close enough that Bucky could feel the heat coming off of his body. Both of them ran a couple of degrees warmer than the average person due to the serum but Steve was still slightly warmer than Bucky. Would always be.

He tilted his head, the words dragging out of his mouth careful and slow and dripping with suspicion. “What’re you thinking, Buck?”

“Nothing,” Bucky looked up and blinked slowly with an innocent smile and Steve narrowed his eyes.

“Bullshit.”

“What?” He asked, the word wrapped in a laugh, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.

Steve’s expression suddenly straightened. He shook his head, something swirling in his glacier blue eyes that gave Bucky pause. “Don’t,” Steve started and stopped. His throat worked. Then, firmer—“We’re not going to pressure her into what we want. She needs to choose this— _us_ —on her own.”

There was a long moment where the two of them just stared at one another.

“Steve, I would never…” Bucky’s mouth fell open as his words trailed off, brows furrowing, his smile falling away. “You know me, I wouldn’t take someone’s choice from them. Ever.”

After a couple of seconds, Steve sighed and reached for Bucky’s hip, bodily tugging him closer until their torsos bumped. Dropping his forehead to Bucky’s shoulder, Steve breathed out, squeezing his hips pleasantly with his big hands, “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that Darcy’s just a little skittish and I want to make sure we do this right. And to be honest, _I_ don’t even know how to do this right.”

“You don’t have to know how to do everything, Steve.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Maybe because you still haven’t gotten it through your thick head that just because you can get by on your own doesn’t mean you have to?” Steve’s face turned sour at the old argument and Bucky grinned. “Or, look at it like this, sourpuss, maybe we’re supposed to learn how to go about this together. Teamwork and all.”

“I don’t like not knowing how things are going to go,” Steve admitted softly as he swept a thumb over Bucky’s hipbone. 

It tickled slightly, making Bucky’s abs tense and contract. “I know you don’t.”

Bucky stepped even closer to the blond and slid his arms under Steve’s, skimming up his sides, counting his ribs with his fingers. He kept his touch light as a feather, knowing it both frustrated and never failed to grab Steve’s attention, and then simply hugged the slightly taller man, enjoying the hard wall of muscle, the way he could lean into it and it would never give, the way it could hold him, and he thought, for a second, how different this would be with Darcy. Where Steve was hard lines, and sculpted, marble flesh that he had long ago memorized, Darcy was a new canvas—small and soft and considerably shorter and from what Bucky could tell so far: shaped like a fucking Coke bottle. Goddamn curves for _days_.

Both forms appealed deeply to Bucky in different ways and he could never remember a time that they didn’t. Even thinking about them now stirred a growing heat in his lower belly.

He learned his head back, nuzzling Steve’s bearded jaw with his nose before purposefully catching the blonde’s eye. He whispered out, “Sometimes we’ve just gotta trust fate, y’know?”

Steve shifted, clearly uncomfortable with that idea.

“Fate brought me back to you through the woman you love. If you can’t trust that, then Steve, you gotta trust me here as well. I’m going to treat her right, but I also want to feel things out with her. Get to know her a little. We’re gonna have our bumps and bruises, like anyone would, probably even more given our situation,” Bucky paused then and chuckled. “Plus, it doesn’t help that I like riling people up.”

A pause and Steve’s head fell to Bucky’s shoulder with a thump.

“I feel like I should warn her,” Steve groaned softly, his voice morose and muffled at the same time, and Bucky snickered, running his hands along the smooth planes of Steve’s wide back. He frowned at what he felt. The man was tensed tighter than a goddamn bowstring.

He’d have to do something about that.

“Nah,” Bucky rumbled with a shake of his head as he started inching them closer to the bathroom, “let it be a surprise. More fun that way.”

“Ha,” Steve deadpanned. “For _you_ , not your victims.”

“You like it, punk, and don’t fuckin’ lie to me. Besides, it’s not like you don’t enjoy stirring the goddamn pot yourself. Troublemaker.” Bucky accused with affection and Steve didn’t bother to deny it. He pulled Steve’s head up from his shoulder so he could lean forward and plant a swift kiss to his full lips as he continued tugging them along.

Steve let him lead them with soft steps and sweet kisses which he chased with quiet sighs. In between those moments, Bucky watched him, took in the way Steve’s eyelids drooped, the blood staining his hands and arms and neck and cheek— _Darcy’s_ blood. 

Steve’s brows pinched at last, “What are you doing, Buck?”

“I’m gonna wash up,” Bucky informed him as they stepped into the bathroom. He reached behind Steve’s shoulder to flick on the light. “And so are you. Unless you plan on attempting to crawl into our bed covered in dried blood?”

Steve snorted and started to tiredly tug his own shirt off. “Well when you put it like that.”

Helping him, Bucky slid his hands up Steve’s middle to his firm chest, catching the fabric and letting it gather at his wrists along the way. His lips curved at the way Steve’s abs rippled and contracted under his light touch. When Steve was finally freed of the t-shirt, Bucky gave him a thorough once over, taking in every curve and dip. His breath caught in his chest, locking in his lungs at the sight Steve made, even as exhausted as he was, even covered in blood, even in the middle of the night. Bucky would never get tired of looking at him, the man was goddamn perfection.

And yet, there were days when he missed the Steve that could fit in the space under his arm, the Steve he could curl around at night, encompassing him nearly completely. He had loved him long before the serum, after all. He loved him when he was skin and bones and hacking up a lung, spitting mad in alleyways as his small fists flew, blood dripping down his chin and fire in his eyes that was so goddamn beautiful. 

Steve’s mouth could dress anyone down in two seconds flat and that hadn’t changed a bit, even though his body had. His outside physique just finally reflected what Bucky had known lived inside of Steve all along. 

Steven Grant Rogers really was a creature of legends, proud and noble, and _his_.

It was only fitting that someone like him would fall for his polar opposite. Where he led in the limelight, making the right choices, Bucky was born in the shadows, made to get his hands dirty. It was something he had been good at even before Hydra, something that lived inside him that frightened him down to the bone; knowing the things he would do, the things he had done—for Steve.

It was why loving Steve was like washing himself clean, every damn time.

“Cat got your tongue?” 

Bucky’s eyes flashed to Steve’s, ripping himself from his wandering thoughts. He took in the self-satisfied smirk resting on the punk’s lips, the way those dangerous blue eyes danced in challenge. 

Well, Bucky was never one to turn that down. 

Without warning, he grabbed the back of his neck in a strong grip, pulling Steve to him, slanting his lips over his as he swiped a smooth tongue inside. He held the other man firmly in place as he took his time playing with Steve’s mouth, tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth before sucking on it until he had Steve gasping, yanking a handful of his hair.

Pulling away with a wet smack, Bucky grinned lifting one brow, “Actually, I think I had your tongue there.”

“Fuckin’ jerk,” Steve moaned like a drunk, eyes barely slit open. He surged forward, pushing Bucky back against the sink until he had no choice but to sit on it. 

Bottles clattered to the floor but neither man paid attention to the mess as Steve stepped between his legs and cupped his jaw with one hand and the side of his neck with the other, devouring Bucky’s mouth. It was hard and fast and dirty and Bucky’s cock was throbbing hard enough to make him wince. Steve’s hands roved down his back and grabbed two handfuls of his ass to slide him closer until their hips were pressed together.

Peeling back the waistband of Steve’s pants, Bucky stuck a hand inside to find him just as hard and wanting as Bucky felt.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve groaned out, hips rolling hard as Bucky moved his hand over his cock. He ran a thumb over the head and Steve’s mouth fell open, gasping, “Just like that. Feels so damn good.”

“We’ve got two options here,” Bucky told him, his voice husky with need. He kept working Steve over, knowing that even though the other man’s eyes were closed in ecstasy that he had his complete and utter attention. “We can finish this in the shower or we can do this now and shower after. I’m inclined to go with the first option, kill two birds with one stone and all that.”

“Shower,” Steve gasped out, bright eyes flying open, wild at the edges. He panted and wet his lips, nodding. “Finish this in the shower.”

“Mm,” the dark-haired man leaned back and held Steve’s gaze, his stare nothing short of sensual. His brows lifted as he demanded, “Then strip down, Captain.”

Stunned, Steve’s eyes burned into his and Bucky planted a hand flat against the other man’s firm chest and pushed him backwards so he could hop off the sink. His hands went to the waistband of his own sweats and he slid them down, kicking them off of his feet as they gathered at his ankles. Once he was done, he met Steve’s scorching gaze and sent the man a shameless wink before turning and strutting over to the shower naked as the day he was born.

He didn’t need to look back to know that Steve was scrambling to follow suit.

The shower was huge and luxurious, as most everything that Stark created was. Bucky could walk into it easily with more than enough room for Steve to join, and maybe, he smirked to himself, even a third. If they were smaller and about Darcy’s height. 

His cock twitched at that and Bucky swallowed back a groan.

 _You don’t know her. You don’t know her._ He told himself, but it was hard to convince himself of that when she was something he had wanted for years.

There was a seat in the corner and jets on the walls along with the waterfall-like shower head above. The wait time for the hot water was non-existent, it came on instantly with the spray and Bucky hurried in.

He tilted his head up to the stream, enjoying the way it washed over his skin, the blinding heat seeping into his skin. A solid arm slid around his waist, like a steel trap, and Bucky smiled until he glanced down and saw the blood stains. Water soaked his hair, dripping down his face and he wiped it away before twisting around in Steve’s grip. 

“C’mon, Stevie,” Bucky murmured gently, pulling him into the spray. “Let’s cleaned you up.”

Spinning the two of them so they switched places, he snagged a washcloth and some soap. Bucky got the suds going into a nice lather and then he was softly brushing it over Steve’s skin, starting at his chest. Neither said a word as Bucky worked but he felt Steve’s eyes on him like a goddamn caress. The blond shifted on his feet, like he was itching to take the rag and do the job himself, but he didn’t and Bucky had to fight back a swell of emotion. 

It was no small thing for Steve to let someone else take care of him, even like this—even Bucky, even after all of these years. Enough that it had been a point of contention for them more than once.

And so Bucky took extra care scrubbing the blood until there wasn’t a trace of it left on Steve’s skin. He took the shampoo next and squirted some of it into his palm. Steve turned without prompting and leaned his head back, letting Bucky run his fingers along his scalp, sifting through the silky blond locks until they were full of white, sudsy bubbles.

The lack of resistance alone was a testament to how much Steve was out of sorts tonight and Bucky’s heart clenched in his chest, squeezing until he bit his lip, brows pinched together. 

“Rinse,” Bucky instructed in a quiet tone and Steve went back under the stream of water.

Steam had begun to cloud around them, the water piping hot, but neither man was a fan of washing with anything colder than that—not when they had the option. While Steve rinsed, Bucky grabbed the shampoo again and made quick work of his own hair, raking his fingers through it and then running his soapy hands down his body.

They switched places again, so Bucky could get the soap out of his face before it got in his eyes. The two of them moving in quiet, peaceful synchronization. 

As Bucky was finishing, Steve took the opportunity to sit in the corner seat of the shower. He leaned his head back against the wet tiled wall with his eyes closed, locks of hair falling over his forehead, looking for all the world like he was ready to fall asleep.

Bucky grinned, rivulets of water running down his face. He eyed the way Steve’s legs spread wide naturally. Judging by the half-hard cock the blond was currently sporting, he wasn’t entirely ready for sleep yet. 

Besides, if Bucky wanted the man to really _relax_ and there was only one way to do it.

Walking over, Bucky knelt between his legs and took Steve’s cock in his right hand (never the left. Never. It was non-negotiable). Glancing up, he watched the way Steve’s eyes slit open in an exhausted kind of interest.

“I thought we were supposed to clean up,” Steve mumbled, his eyelids fluttering as he became more awake.

Bucky moved his hand up and down the quickly hardening length, shooting the other man a wicked grin, like he should know better (and he really should). “It’s a process, Rogers. Don’t you know that by now?”

Glacier eyes narrowed and Steve’s smart mouth opened but Bucky ducked down and took him in his mouth before the blond could get a word out. He chuckled at the strangled yelp that tore loose from Steve’s chest. Thick, muscled thighs tensed and then stretched out before widening further. Steve shifted in his seat, his hand falling to Bucky’s wet hair, petting it.

Humming, Bucky worked him over, his right hand stroking the base, twisting slightly while he sucked and licked at Steve’s cock like it was a goddamn ice cream cone. Tasted as good to Bucky, always would. So good that Bucky dipped his head, relaxing his jaw, swallowing it deeper into his throat.

Hissing, Steve tightened his grip on Bucky’s hair, “I’m not going to last long if you keep that up.”

Bucky pulled off with a pop. Steve’s cock was thick and veiny and it bobbed between them but Bucky kept his gaze on Steve’s lustful gaze. 

“Want it. Want you to come for me.” His hands rubbed up and down Steve’s thighs, scratching lightly when he felt the tension coiling just under the muscles. “You’re so wound up tonight, Steve. Just wanna make you feel good.”

Steve sucked in a breath, staring down at Bucky in sudden surprise. “Are you and Darcy sharing the same lines now?”

Bucky blinked and then let out a low, seductive laugh as the realization hit him. “She say something similar to you?” Steve’s lips pressed together and he nodded. Bucky snickered. “Maybe you really do have a type then, Rogers.”

“Mouthy and brunette?” Steve asked in an innocent tone that Bucky didn’t buy for a goddamn second. The blond smirked then, proving him right, “Stubborn with soft pink lips that were made for sucking cock?”

Eyes widening, Bucky huffed out—

“ _Jesus._ ”

“Go on, then,” Steve teased, grinning outright and biting his lower lip in a way that made Bucky want to take a turn.

 _Later_ , he shook his head. _First things first._

Holding Steve’s gaze, Bucky took his cock in his hand again and fed it to himself, hollowing out his cheeks every time he pulled back. He picked up the pace, bobbing his head, knowing what Steve liked (he wasn’t fond of being teased, not unless he was the one doing it). 

Steve gushed out breathy encouragements, rolling his hips lightly and cradling Bucky’s head with both hands.

Bucky groaned, loud and long, around Steve’s cock, letting him feel the vibration from it. Keeping his eyes open and locked on Steve, Bucky watched, waiting for the moment when he looked like he was about to blow before he grabbed Steve’s hip with his left hand and releasing the grip he had on his cock with his right so he could sneak those slick fingers up to firmly press against his prostate.

“ _OH SHIT!_ ”

The reaction was immediate; Steve seized up, arching his back, veins popping in his neck as he gasped. Fingers twisted pleasantly in Bucky’s hair and Steve pumped into his mouth as he came. Swallowing every drop, Bucky breathed steadily through his nose while Steve’s hips continued to twitch in small, erratic jerks as he came down from the high.

Letting the sight burn into his memory, Bucky finished pulling the orgasm from Steve, giving him one last, long lick along the softening underside of his cock before kissing the head. Eventually, Steve’s eyes opened and the look he sent Bucky was so full of love, it made him ache.

_God, he is fucking gorgeous._

“I love you,” Steve told him, his breathing still slowing down. Bucky turned and kissed the inside of Steve’s thigh.

“Until the end of the line.”

Steve reached down and lightly traced Bucky’s lips and then moved along his jaw. Bucky caught his wrist and popped two fingers in his mouth, sucking lightly. A laugh bubbled out of Steve’s chest and it trembled, as he stared down, wide-eyed. “ _Damn_.”

“Still feeling tense?” Bucky asked lightly.

Running a hand over his face, Steve shook his head. “Not so much. It was a long fucking night… But I feel better.”

“You want more?”

Steve looked at him then for a long time.

“I always want more. I’m always going to want more from you. It won’t ever stop, Buck,” his voice was warm and deep and filled all the spaces in Bucky’s soul until he felt like he was floating. And then Steve’s gaze dropped pointedly, lifting a single brow. “But first, looks like you’ve got a little situation that we need to take care of.”

“ _Little?_ ” Bucky asked in mock outrage. He motioned to his own aching cock that was leaking at the tip and still hard as a fucking rock. “You call this _little?_ ”

“I think I called it a situation.”

“Yeah, I heard that—a little one.”

Steve rolled his eyes affectionately, noticeably more relaxed, and helped him to his feet.

* * *

“On a scale of one to ten, how awful of me would it be to invest in a shock collar?”

Peter stopped sweeping and glanced up. His expression torn between confusion and concern, like his face couldn’t quite decide which to settle on, so it chose an odd mixture of both. “For who?”

Unimpressed, Tony brandished a dustpan like it was a sword that he was using to challenge the room as a whole to a duel. 

“Who is the person that continues to destroy my lab?”

Peter just looked at him for a long time, broom stick resting in one hand. Tony had told the kid that he shouldn’t bother, that they could get the bots to come clean the mess up, but Peter was raised by a good family and simply rolled his sleeves up and got to work. Tony had lasted a total of three minutes watching him try to single handedly make sense of the utter destruction before joining in the effort with loud complaint.

“That doesn’t seem very ethical Mr. Stark,” Peter muttered as he tried to carefully gather every piece of shattered glass that had fallen behind the door (a door that was now precariously hanging off of it’s hinges).

“Just a thought.”

“ _Boss? You have incoming data from Doctor Banner_ ,” FRIDAY piped up suddenly and Tony pursed his lips, gaze darting around the lab. There wasn’t much in this place that hadn’t been shattered to oblivion, but the room across the hall had been almost completely untouched.

Nodding to himself, Tony answered briskly, “Send it to lab two-oh-three and I’ll take a look at it.”

There was a metallic clang as he set the dustpan and small hand broom on a nearby rolling table. Tony took the Soul Stone in it’s Hulk-proof glass container and tucked it under his arm as he headed to the other lab. He didn’t trust leaving it in a room where he couldn’t personally keep an eye on the damned thing. The first incident he could almost understand happening, but the second? Twice having to watch a woman turn herself almost inside out to bring back the dead? 

No, he didn’t trust leaving it behind. Even for a few seconds. Even with Peter (perhaps especially with him).

“Be right back, kid,” Tony informed Peter as he passed by.

He didn’t hear Peter’s answer, his mind buzzing like it always did when he was near the stone, even when it was sealed away in its case. For him, it wasn’t a call like Loki had explained, it wasn’t an invitation. The stone was energy in its rawest form and it vibrated over his skin with possibilities, like electrified velvet.

As soon as he was in the other lab, he set the stone down on a table, rolling his neck, shaking off the feeling. Reaching up, Tony pulled down the large digital screen. Banner’s message was waiting for him and Tony’s eyes flicked over the numbers from Darcy’s charts and Banner’s thorough notes.

The two of them had been analyzing the data from the first night Darcy had opened the Soul Stone, trying to find a way for her to turn the ignition without destroying herself in the process.

So far, the options weren’t very promising.

“FRIDAY,” Tony zoomed in on a graph with narrowed eyes. “Can you scan the stone again and let me know if there are any changes in your readings from yesterday? Especially the gamma levels.”

“ _Doing so now_.”

Tony waited, walking over to the small refrigerator in the corner. He pulled out two energy drinks and popped one open, taking a bracing swig of the carbonated can, his brown eyes locked on the screen.

“I am Groot.”

Blinking rapidly, Tony’s gaze flicked away from the screen to the hallway. The tree creature hovered over Peter as he squatted down, attempting to sweep up one of the many piles of glass and debris into a dustpan. Amused, Tony watched as Groot very slowly (and very loudly) dragged a trash can over, the metal scraping along the floor like nails on a chalkboard, before straightening.

“Thank you,” Peter’s head shot up with a bright smile. He dumped the dustpan into the garbage. “It was Groot, right?” 

“I am Groot.”

Peter grinned, “Thought so.”

“I am Groot,” the sentient tree pointed at the broom and Peter tilted his head and spun on his haunches. His brows lifted as he gazed up. 

“You want to help?”

Groot just held his vine covered hand out. Peter obliged and rose back on his feet, offering the broom to the tree. Once it was in his hands, Groot just stood there, blinking at the teen and Tony let out a breathy kind of snort as he watched.

“Oh! Wait,” Peter jumped forward, taking the broom back and giving an exaggerated example of how to sweep. “Like this. Nice and easy. You just sort of—watch out for glass!”

The kid’s hand flew out, face white in panic, as Groot stepped back and over one of the piles of broken shards. The tree merely stayed where he was and glanced down in confusion as glass crunched and crackled under him.

Frowning, Tony’s brows pulled together as he grabbed a third energy drink out of the fridge and walked back across the hall. He downed half of his drink in one large gulp, smacking his lips after he swallowed. “I think his skin is a bit tougher than ours, kid.”

Both tree and teen turned in unison. 

“I am Groot.”

Tony squinted, “FRIDAY, translation?”

“ _I am afraid this language is beyond my capabilities._ ” Groot’s eyes flew to the ceiling when FRIDAY’s voice floated through the room, his small wooden mouth dropping open in a quiet gasp of child-like wonder.

“Fix that,” Tony ordered, eyeing the tree.

“ _Yes, Boss._ ”

He handed a Red Bull to Peter and to Groot, feeling as though it was his duty as the host in this Compound to make sure that his guests were given the proper sustenance. And seeing that it was in the middle of the night, nothing else seemed more appropriate than giving them wings. 

“Here, fuel. It tastes great and is very good for you.”

Peter took it from Tony cautiously. His dark eyes flicked to Groot’s eager and curious face as the tree rope-like fingers curled around the slender silver can.

“Mr. Stark, I don’t think that giving him a Red Bull is a good idea.” Peter muttered slowly. He set down the broom down behind him and made a face. “Groot’s kind of gone crazy for the Skittles and this feels like the next step down a slippery slope.”

Tony turned to the tree, accusingly, “So _you’re_ the one whose gotten into my candy stash?” 

He had been searching for the suspect for a few days now. Originally, he had blamed Thor, but this turn of events brought a new light as to why he had found a couple of stray leaves on the pantry shelves. 

Tony frowned, reaching to take the can from the tree. Misunderstanding, Groot scowled and twisted away protectively, not letting Tony near it. The billionaire raised his hands in surrender.

“I’m not taking it, Treebeard. I’m _opening_ it for you—enabling. It’s kind of my thing.”

Groot seemed to consider this with narrowed eyes and then slowly offered the can to Tony. He never fully let go of it though, simply held it still so he could pop the top. It cracked open in the quiet of the room followed quickly by a second crack. Eyes flicking over to Peter, the teen shrugged innocently before slurping a mouthful of his own Red Bull.

_So much for the moral high ground._

Coughing suddenly, Peter’s eyes bulged, and Tony gave him a worried look, wondering if he needed to give him the Heimlich maneuver. But then the kid’s eyes flicked to something over Tony’s shoulder as he continued to cough and gag. Next to Peter, Groot waved. 

Whipping around, Tony started at the sudden arrival of a young Skrull standing in the doorway of the lab.

“What am I, the godfather?” And then the billionaire looked around the room, throwing his hands out. “Where do all of you keep coming from?”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Peter coughed some more and then smiled brightly, “Hey! Uh,” he snapped his fingers searching for the name, “Zokar!”

The Skrull dipped his head with a small smile and Tony gave him a once over before declaring—

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he nodded, stepping back, “come on in. If you’re going to stay here, you can earn your keep.” Pointing at Peter, Tony commanded, “You, continue sweeping. You, Skrull-kid, wipe down those tables over here and watch out for stray glass. Treebeard,” Tony turned to the tree and paused. Groot had tipped his wooden head all the way back and was shaking the can of Red Bull for any remaining droplets. Frowning, Tony wondered briefly if Peter had been right. “Groot…” Tony began, unsure, “keep Grooting.”

Groot smacked his lips together, lowering his head. And then his eye twitched. “I am Groot?”

Tony watched the tree’s pupils dilate and shook his head. “Nope, no, you’re officially cut off.”

“Told you,” Peter mumbled as he reached for the dustpan. “Groot, how about you put the Red Bull down and hold this—”

Scoffing, Tony interrupting as Peter handed off the dustpan to the sentient tree. “That was my job.” Freezing, Peter’s eyes became perfect circles. He slowly offered the dustpan back to Tony, but Tony held up a hand and turned his face away dramatically. “Oh, no, you’ve already given it away. No take backs. Zokat—”

“It’s _Zokar_ , Mr. Stark.”

“Zokar,” Tony reiterated and the Skrull turned towards him like a young soldier. Lifting one brow, Tony asked seriously, “You want a Red Bull? Wait, what am I asking, of course, you do. I’m going for a refill; I’ll bring you one.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left the three youngsters behind. Another message pinged on the screen as he walked into the undamaged lab and Tony quickly pulled it up. FRIDAY had finished her analysis of the Soul Stone and had already compiled a side-by-side comparison of the readings from twenty-four hours ago to now.

The data showed no change whatsoever.

Frowning, Tony scratched the side of his head and wandered back to the fridge, his brain buzzing with a nervous kind of energy. Pulling out two more Red Bulls, his eyes flicked back to the screen quickly before returning to the other lab where the teenagers were waiting.

Peter must have found the janitorial closet because he now had a mop and bucket out, clearly dead set on making sure the floor was at least taken care of tonight. Tony sent him an affectionate look, but only when he wasn’t looking.

He really was a good kid.

Zokar watched his approach unblinkingly and Tony handed off the can, choosing to wait to open his own this time so that Zokar could watch and see how it was done. The Skrull was a quick study and copied Tony’s movements a few seconds later.

But he didn’t drink. Instead, he asked quietly, “Is she okay?”

The room went still. 

Zokar’s voice wasn’t loud but it echoed for the four of them and Tony paused, the Red Bull hovering just in front of his lips. Finally, he took a swift drink and pressed his lips firmly together.

Peter, Groot, and Zokar were watching him like everything depending on this answer and Tony hated that. He hated it because he didn’t know, not really. Not concretely. And he wasn’t fond of lying.

But he did it anyway.

“Oh, yeah. She’s gonna be just fine,” Tony grinned widely (too widely, given Peter’s furrowed brows). He added quickly, “She’s recovering. Tough woman.”

“I am _Groot_.”

Tony glanced at him but the tree dumped another dustpan full of debris into the garbage and then held the dustpan at his side. He stared hard at Tony, as though what he said was vastly important.

Next to Tony, Zokar spoke up in his muted voice, “He says he once held an infinity stone.”

“I’m sorry, I think my ears are damaged from the blast,” Tony’s head swiveled on his neck as he turned to the Skrull. “You said he _what_?”

Setting the dustpan down, Groot stepped forward and his eyes were suddenly much older than the rest of him. He looked ancient, like he had been planted into the roots of the earth ages upon ages ago. And then, miraculously, Tony watched as the tree lifted his viny hand, palm up, and in the center of it bloomed a small flower.

Groot’s eyes bored into Tony’s. “ _We are Groot._ ”

“He says,” Zokar started, and then his face opened, like he was having a revelation, and the words rushed from his mouth next. “He says he held it with the others, his family. They held it together and were able to defeat their enemy.”

There was a long moment of silence.

And then—

“An even distribution,” Peter breathed. He turned to Tony, “So that the energy didn’t burn out one channel. _Mr. Stark_ —”

Tony was nodding already, brows pulled low over his dark eyes, his mind racing as something fell into place, sliding in like a key to a lock. “Yep, I’m on it.” Moving quickly, Tony marched across the lab, calling out like a benevolent ruler, “Children, come with me. The bots will finish cleaning. I need your brains and I have snacks. _Skittles_ even.”

“I am Groot!”

* * *

She had slept through what was left of the night peacefully and had almost made it to seven in the morning before a cramping episode struck and struck _hard_.

Darcy was alone this time and she cried out, the pain jolting her from her sleep. Curling her body inward, her legs twitched and shook uncontrollably and distantly she could hear her heart rate monitor jump with a loud alarm. The muscles in her calves and thighs twisted into tight fisted knots and with only one good hand it was impossible—

She shouted next, not even sure who she was calling for, but it must have worked because a few seconds later the door burst open and a worried Bruce rushed inside. He tossed back the sheets the had tangled around her thrashing legs and began kneading out the muscles with a strength she hadn’t been aware the man possessed.

It hurt like _hell_.

Darcy could do nothing but lay there, helpless, and she hated every second of it. Her toes were wrenched at odd angles, and even the arch of her foot felt like it was trying to rip itself free from its confinement. Bruce was doing a great job, but it wasn’t enough. Sweating and panting, Darcy grimaced, forcing herself to sit up and help despite her bandaged arm. 

Oddly enough, it didn’t hurt at all as she used it in tandem with her left hand to attack the cramping muscles in her calf.

It took a solid five minutes of utter agony until the episode began to ease and pass, releasing her muscles from its vindictive grip.

“There you go, that’s better. Nice and easy,” Bruce was saying but Darcy hardly heard him.

She fell back against the bed, trembling still. The bandage on her arm had come lose in the process. Blearily, she lifted her hand and peeled back part of it, wondering at the lack of pain, and then froze.

Bruce must have noticed her shock because he glanced up, his glasses askew. Straightening them, he approached, staring at her arm and the skin revealed underneath. 

Darcy didn’t have the heart to see the look on his face. 

Moving slowly, as if he didn’t want to startle her, Bruce took her arm in his hands and unwound the bandages in the gentlest manner that he could. All thoughts flew out of her mind and Darcy could not look away from each inch of horrifically scarred flesh as it was revealed.

It looked like burn marks, or like she had been clawed by some vicious creature. The skin was stretched and shiny where the gashes had been and while the wounds weren’t open… they certainly hadn’t gone away or even faded. They ran up the length of her fingers, around her hand and over her forearm, stopping just below her elbow.

“We should test the nerves here,” Bruce told her quietly as he finished removing the bandage. “To be sure you haven’t lost feeling or function.”

“Okay,” Darcy agreed in a very small voice.

Bruce went about poking and prodding, softly requesting her to bend this finger or that finger, to squeeze this, to roll her wrist. She had almost complete feeling in her arm and could do all that he requested without a single ounce of pain… but it was clear that the stone had left a mark this time.

Darcy had no idea what that would mean for her when she went to open it again.

“Well, everything is working as it should,” Bruce said, lowering her arm back to her side, his tone full of compassion. He hesitated next; Darcy could feel it from where he stood. Kind eyes drifted over her marred skin and Bruce admitted, softly, “I was hoping it wouldn’t scar. I’m sorry, Darcy.”

There was a beat of silence. Five seconds, really. Five seconds that Darcy had to pull herself the fuck together because things were probably going to get a lot worse than this. Whatever it takes meant whatever it takes.

She swallowed and offered a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “The price you pay, right?”

A beat of silence.

“You’ve paid more than enough.”

Her eyes lifted to meet Bruce’s. He looked upset and she could understand that. This man had worked his ass off to keep her alive, something that she wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

“Thank you,” Darcy spoke up suddenly, her voice cracking with an emotion she was desperately trying to keep under control. She held his eyes for a long moment, trying to convey to him where her words would fall horribly short, “for all that you’ve done.”

“I’m glad I can help,” Bruce murmured and then swiftly checked her IV’s, like he needed to keep his hands busy. She watched him silently as he worked and wondered how a gentle man like this was able to cause such destruction. It just didn’t match the man that she knew.

But she had seen the videos from New York and Sokovia, had seen the green beast he became, had watched every second of them with Jane.

“Darcy, may I ask a favor of you?”

His voice snapped her out of her thoughts and her eyes flashed up to his face. But he wasn’t looking at her, choosing instead to keep his gaze firmly on the chart now resting in his hands.

“Sure,” she nodded, even though he couldn’t see the motion, “anything.”

Bruce didn’t respond for a long moment, writing something down with a pen he pulled from his shirt pocket. Once he finished, his eyes flicked up and there was something heavy sitting there. His jaw clenched until it turned white.

“If you have a choice of who you pull out of that stone,” he said and his eyes did not leave hers, “leave Hulk where he is.”

Darcy’s lips fell open, her brows pulling together, a question on the tip of her tongue. But Bruce was already turning and walking towards the door. His hand reached for the handle and then he glanced just over his shoulder before adding in a deeply haunted voice—

“Unless absolutely necessary.”

* * *

Clouds billowed across the sky like a thick, rumpled blanket after a long winter’s sleep. The sun was hidden behind them, but it fought to pierce through the cover, turning parts of the clouds a bright, flashing silver. 

Wind rushed past him in swirling gusts, brushing against his skin, and he stood upon a green coated cliff, gazing out over the edge into the dark, ancient sea below. The water crashed against the rocks, white foam frothing, roaring like some beast of old. Above, a black crow cawed, it’s cry high and clear as it circled endlessly.

He knew this place.

“ _Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor._ ”

* * *

The God of Thunder's eyes flew open. 

Crisp morning air filled his lungs as he blinked at the ceiling above, his mind trying to place where he was. The sheets whispered against his legs as he shifted his legs, gradually coming into awareness. 

Thor swallowed, his mouth dry. Fingers reached out blindly beside him, but the space in the bed was empty and cold.

Frowning, a tremor of fear slithered under Thor’s skin, wrapping around his chest, suffocating him for a moment. Suddenly more alert, Thor quickly turned his head—and then he saw her.

Jane was sitting in a plush chair by the window, her copper hair aglow against the rising sun. The gathering light flickered over her like a living thing, bathing her in a glinting and glittering shimmer, and Thor felt his heart stir. There had been a time, not too long ago, that he had thought he had felt it, the slow death a heart makes. He had fought it, clinging to what he had left—Darcy. 

Perhaps he had clung too tightly.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Thor yawned and rolled onto his side, openly watching the stunning creature facing the clear glass in the early dawn light. Her eyes flickered over the landscape and she had tucked a soft blanket around her shoulders, her form so small that she nearly disappeared in it.

“Did you sleep, my love?”

Jane gasped and whirled around, and Thor drank her in, the life she exuded. He knew Darcy had spoken to moon as if it were Jane, but she was wrong. Jane was the sun, bright and burning in the center of his chest, warming his skin with her light.

“Yes,” she answered softly, her lips curving even as her brows pulled together. “Outside of a weird dream, I slept great.”

Thor sat up and folded back the warmth of the thick blanket. He unfolded his body and rose to his feet, slowly ambling over to Jane. She watched him approach with a sweet smile.

Moving to stand behind her, Thor placed both of his hands on her thin shoulders and bent to kiss the top of her head. He caught some of her hair on his wiry beard and brushed it away with a grin, murmuring, “Aye, I dreamed as well.”

“It’s so odd,” Jane leaned back into him, resting her head against his stomach, gazing back out the window. “For you, over a month passed, but for me, it was as if… it was as if I lived an _eternity_ and yet no time at all.” 

Thor made a soft noise in the back of his throat and Jane twisted in the chair she sat in. Arms and legs flailed slightly as she barely managed to clamor to her feet, using the chair as a boost to reach Thor’s height. He held his hands out, ready to catch her in case she fell, but she kept her balance precariously.

The god watched, highly amused, as she still somehow only managed to just barely meet him eye for eye. Some of her hair had fallen into her eyes and she blew at it, refusing to let go of her blanket. She blew once, twice, and grew frustrated the third time when it didn’t work. Thor chuckled deeply.

Wrapping one arm firmly around her middle, he lifted his other hand and swept the runaway hairs from her eyes. Jane leaned into his touch.

“I feel like I missed you, mourned you,” she told him, quietly, with shining amber eyes, “and yet had only just seen you.”

“Time is a strange thing. Even the gods struggle to understand it and its innermost workings,” Thor informed her and then a funny little smile crawled across his lips. “There was a wizard I met once though, and he understood time—was perhaps a man out of time himself.”

Jane watched him as he spoke, hearing the words but not processing them. Her mind, the incredible thing that it was, jumped bridges as her intelligent gaze flickered over his face, cataloguing things.

“You’ve changed,” she said at last.

Thor steadily held her gaze.

“Does it bother you?”

“No,” Jane shook her head right away. Her eyes lowered to his bare chest and she reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over the skin there. When she spoke, her voice was not exactly shaking. “I’m just sad for you. I don’t feel like life has been very kind to you and it _should_ have been,” a frown overtook her lips and she blinked rapidly, her eyes suddenly becoming very bright. “It should have been, Thor. You of all people deserve kindness and sweetness and all things _good_.”

His hand lifted and cupped the side of her face. Thor smiled softly. “Ah, but you see, life has been kind to me as of late. Mixed in with sorrow has come my greatest joy. It is not many who can say that they receive their love back from the dead. Only the great stories, the legends.” Thor leaned forward, dropping his voice to a mere whisper. “What does that say of our love, my sweet Jane?”

Slowly, he brought his other hand up and he cupped her face as if he were holding the most precious jewel in the galaxy. Thor’s eyes flicked between both of hers.

“That even death itself cannot keep it at bay.”

And then he kissed her. He kissed her like he needed air in his lungs, blood and lightning in his veins, he kissed her as though his skin would burst if he didn’t. Jane dropped the blanket around her shoulders and clutched at his shoulders, holding on for dear life (and maybe, she truly was). 

Pulling away, Thor tilted his forehead against Jane’s and closed his eyes and simply breathed. She snuck another kiss or two, just soft presses of her lips to his.

“I would give you my heart again, if you didn’t already have it,” Jane breathed against his mouth.

“And it is a precious gift you honor me with. One that I will guard and protect with my life.”

He lost track of how long they stayed like that, Jane balancing on her chair, their foreheads pressed together, holding onto one another like they might disappear any second. Finally, she pulled back.

“Thor?” She asked, concern lacing her words. “Can we go check on Darcy? I’m worried about her.”

“Yes. I… Jane,” Thor shook his head, thinking back to how he had spoken to the sister of his heart. His face crumpled slightly and he held onto Jane for strength. “I was so enraged with her last night. Never would I have guessed that the most difficult person to keep alive in this time would be our Darcy.”

“I’ve taught her well.”

“Too well, I might add,” Thor’s gaze slid up to meet his heart’s eyes. They sparkled with mischief and he shook his head, feeling more than five-thousand years old. “Perhaps you can begin to unteach her and also unlearn yourself?”

“After breakfast,” Jane nodded easily but Thor knew better. There was no promise of compliance. She started to crawl off the chair and so he lifted her easily instead, placing her back on solid ground. Once there, she craned her head back, suddenly all business. “Can we stop by the kitchen before we see Darcy? I want to grab some things so we can make sure she’s eating.”

* * *

There was a soft knock on her door. Darcy glanced up from tracing the scars along her arm with a finger, expectant. Banner had yet to release her from the Med Bay, even though she was recovering faster than she had the last time, he still wanted to take a few more tests. During the waiting period though, Darcy was losing her mind. 

“Come in,” she called out, pushing herself to scoot up higher in her bed.

The door cracked open and a familiar head poked through with a wide smile. “Rise and shine!”

Darcy’s heart stuttered at the sight of Jane—and it probably would for some time. She blinked, feeling stupid for the swell of emotion that rose to a crescendo as she took in her best friend’s grinning face.

“Good morning, boss lady,” Darcy’s words were quiet but her lips tugged upwards. Jane took that as permission to waltz inside and Darcy wasn’t even surprised to see the giant, blond god at the tiny astrophysicists heels. She imagined that Thor wouldn’t be letting Jane leave his sight for some time yet. Flicking her eyes over him, Darcy’s smile softened. “Hi Thor.”

His eyes were gentle. “How are you faring, Darcy?”

“Well enough,” she shrugged, casually trying to tuck her newly scarred arm under the white sheet. Jane didn’t ask before she crawled into the bed, careful to avoid squashing Darcy’s legs. She sat cross-legged at the foot and proudly presented a blue box from Darcy’s nightmares.

“Are those Poptarts?”

Jane nodded and shook it, “Breakfast of champions! I raided the kitchen for them.”

She ripped open the box and tossed a silver package to Thor, which he caught easily. Staring down at it, he lifted one brow, commenting, “This is not what most champions I have known would eat.”

“You should broaden your horizons,” Jane told him sagely before ripping open a pair of frosted strawberry Poptarts and handing them to Darcy.

Despite the fact that she had eaten more Poptarts in her entire life than any human being should, Darcy took the offering with her left hand. “I really missed you,” she told Jane sincerely and then angrily swiped at her stupid gathering tears. Darcy groaned loudly, “Oh god, I’m getting emotional over breakfast foods. What’s wrong with me?”

Patting her leg absently, Jane bit into her Poptart, crumbs flying from her mouth as she mumbled out, “They are worthy of the tears of mortals.”

The three of them ate and Darcy was glad that neither Jane nor Thor commented on the fact that she was solely using her left hand to do everything. She wasn’t quite ready to face the sympathetic glances, the worry, or worse, the possible anger or guilt she knew both Jane and Thor would feel. Hell, she wasn’t quite ready to face the reality of it herself.

It would take some time to getting used to.

After the Poptarts were devoured (despite Thor’s comments from before, the god finished off the rest of the box with ease, filling his short beard with crumbs), Jane peppered Darcy with questions, all of which Darcy happily answered with increasing excitement and speed.

“The _TeleThor_ works? It really works?” Jane asked, her voice bright from the end of the bed. “Did it do the whole sparky explode thing again?”

“Nope, not once,” Darcy shook her head. Then she thought about it, twisting her lips, “I mean, it was kind of wonky and I still don’t understand it completely, but it’s what led us to find the pager and the pager brought Carol Danvers here—she’s a total badass, by the way. I worship the ground she walks on. You should talk to her, she’s got this crazy power, too.”

“She came into contact with the Space Stone and lived,” Thor clarified helpfully from the side.

Darcy slanted a glance his way. “Not only lived, she _took_ some of its power from it.”

Jane’s expression was impressed, and she nodded approvingly. “Then what happened?”

“Well, she fought Thanos who was a pussy ass bitch that tried to give the team a rotten deal, but Carol got us out of a tough spot. Thor brought Tony back along with this really sweet kid, Peter. _Oh!_ ” She jumped slightly, grabbing at Jane with her good hand. “And the Skrulls, you should meet them. They’re great, can shapeshift into Beyoncé at will, which means clearly, I am in love. Anyway, we got out of Manhattan after the fight with Thanos and came here and then Loki showed up in my room—”

Jane flinched back hard enough that she nearly fell off the bed.

“LOKI IS HERE?!” Her voice was shrill enough to hurt Darcy’s ears. And then Jane’s face flooded red with anger, her eyes narrowing into thin slits. “He’s alive? Wait, you said he was in your room?! Did he threaten you? _I’ll kill him_. I was supposed to kill him before, but now I’ll really, _really_ kill him.”

“Jane, love, that is my brother—”

“—adopted—” Darcy piped up, holding one finger in the air.

“—and I would prefer that we keep him alive and all of his body parts in this dimension.”

Frowning fiercely, Jane glared at Thor. “Spoil sport.” She crossed her arms over her chest and then her eyes flashed back to Darcy, burning with something truly frightening. Darcy was used to Jane being… intense, but this was something else entirely. “How did he get in your room?”

Making a face, Darcy winced, the words one big grimace. “Remember the sticks from London?”

“Oh no, you _didn’t_.”

“Yep. I did. He came through those, but it’s cool, I guess, because he’s the one who tricked Thanos and brought the Soul Stone with him. I mean, it wasn’t cool at the moment, because, ya’know, bad dude doing bad things,” Darcy shrugged her shoulders and then the words slipped out from between her lips before she could stop them. “I thought Steve was going to slaughter him.”

At the end of the bed, Jane straightened, lifting one sharp brow.

“Steve, huh?”

Cheeks flushing, Darcy’s voice turned soft and hesitant, her mind flashing to what the man had told her the night before. “Yeah… Steve.”

There was a long moment of quiet.

“Darcy has grown rather close to our Captain,” Thor spoke, suddenly, and there was something in his voice that drew Darcy’s gaze.

“Thor,” she warned—though she had no idea what she was warning him about, but it was there nonetheless.

The god bristled in his chair and Darcy had a feeling they would be having a long discussion at some point. “There is no hiding it. Not when we were banned from seeing you last night so that he could speak with you.”

Darcy’s lips fell open. She shook her head slowly.

“I don’t…”

“The _Winter Soldier_ ,” Jane sneered and Darcy’s head whipped to the tiny astrophysicist. She was running her tongue over her teeth, her expression puckered. “Yeah, he stopped us. That man is on my poo-list, by the way. I’m not a fan.”

Darcy tried to process what Jane and Thor were telling her, that Bucky had somehow stepped in and barred their seeing her (she really couldn’t imagine that to save her life). But her brain got stuck on something Jane said. She squinted, scrunching her nose. “Don’t you mean shit-list?”

“That’s what I said,” Jane blinked at her in confusion and Darcy held it together for a moment before she began to laugh, deep, from her belly.

“God, I missed you, Janey.”

“What? What did I say?”

* * *

Jane and Thor had stayed with her through the morning, keeping her occupied even as Banner came back to run his tests. Which meant that Darcy hadn’t been able to hide her arm from them any longer.

Jane’s reaction was what she had expected and solidified the very reason why she had hidden it in the first place. Guilt had bled into her whiskey eyes and she asked in a very soft voice if it hurt terribly. When Darcy assured her that it didn’t, Thor had commented that she bore the markings of a true warrior now. Though his words were meant to be encouraging, his voice had a funny tone to it, but Darcy knew he was trying and she gave him an appreciative smile for his efforts.

Eventually, it led them to talk about the stone, which sent Jane’s brain spinning in a tizzy that neither Darcy nor Thor could understand. Only after triple checking that Darcy was okay, did Jane allow herself to leave and search out _You-Know-Who_ (which Darcy politely informed her friend that Tony Stark wasn’t that bad), so she could get a look at the stone herself.

Banner had returned to the room not long after Jane and Thor left, telling her that she was finally free to go. Ecstatic to get out of the Med Bay, Darcy thanked him profusely and then hurried to get dressed.

She had just tugged her shirt on and was straightening it when there was yet another knock on her door. Going still, she merely looked at it for a moment before she heard a deep voice on the other side.

“Darcy?”

Her heart leapt in her chest and she smoothed her hands over her hopelessly wild hair (what a shocker it was going to be for Steve when she finally got to dress up after all of this and look like a normal, functioning human being).

“Come in!”

The door knob turned and Steve stepped inside quietly. Locks of his blond hair hung over his forehead and his ocean eyes swept over her, swiftly taking inventory of what he saw. Darcy naturally twisted, pushing her arm out of view and planted a smile on her mouth to distract him. But it was a hard thing to try to distract the man who so utterly took up a large portion of her mind. Eventually, she sat down on her bed and just stared at him, trying to convince herself that the night before hadn’t been a dream—that this beautiful man who had nestled under her skin, dangerously close to her heart, actually loved her.

“Hey sweetheart,” Steve said at last, his voice low and comforting as he moved closer, “how are you?”

Slightly out of breath, which was unusual for her but given the circumstances probably to be expected, she nodded. “I feel good.”

And it was the truth.

They fell silent and after a moment, Steve’s eyes dropped to her arm, noticing right away the funny way she had been holding herself. He frowned and then his gaze lifted and she knew instantly that the gig was up.

“Can I see?” He asked in a voice that was inexplicably soft.

Licking her lips, Darcy’s face lowered to the ground. Slowly, she pulled her right arm into her lap, the hand limp.

Steve didn’t say anything for a long moment. And then he was kneeling in front of her, curling a finger under her chin so she had no choice but to stare into his magnetic eyes. Darcy watched about five different emotions passed across Steve’s face before something very raw entered his gaze.

He looked at her with such sadness that it made her heart ache.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she whispered before he could ask and Steve just nodded slowly.

He leaned up and brushed warm, soft lips across hers, sucking on her top lip lightly; it was like a drug, breaking down her walls and fogging up her mind, making it hard to think of anything but him. When he pulled back, his gaze was a soft thing, his voice sliding over her skin like cool silk. “May I touch them?”

Darcy inhaled shakily, “Yes.”

Sweeping his thumb over her lips, Steve released her chin and looked down to her arm as it rested uselessly in her lap. He traced one of the largest, red scars with the tip of a finger. And then he picked her arm up with infinite gentleness and turned it over slightly.

Darcy couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking, so she stared at his thick, dark lashes as they brushed against his cheeks. Her heart sprinted in her chest.

He inspected the full length of her arm and Darcy hadn’t realized she had closed her eyes until she felt the light press of a warm mouth on the inside of her wrist. Gasping, her chest heaved like a racehorse. Steve nuzzled her arm, his eyes squeezed shut. 

Like he was in pain.

“I’m glad it doesn’t hurt,” Steve told her, his voice very quiet. His eyes flicked up and he carefully lowered her arm, lifting both of his brows slightly. “I take it Banner is releasing you?”

“Yeah,” it took Darcy a little bit until she found her voice. Her toes curled and she bit her lip, feeling an odd wave of shyness wash over her. “Wanna walk me to my room?”

“You’re staying by yourself?”

Darcy’s eyes skimmed up from her lap to meet his. She shrugged, “Well, I figured Jane and Thor could use some privacy…”

Steve nodded but then shook his head, worry coloring his voice. “I don’t like the idea of you being on your own though. What if you have an episode and you’re alone?”

“What, you expect me to come share a bed with you and Bucky?”

Darcy snorted, meaning for it to be a joke. But from the way that Steve stiffened and then boldly held her eyes, his expression open and… and _wanting_ , she knew she had just touched something she wasn’t ready to play with.

“You could,” Steve’s voice was hopeful and panic rushed through Darcy’s blood.

“Oh god, um, wait,” she blurted. “I was kidding. I’m…” Darcy paused, pressing her lips together and then breathing out in a wince. “Steve I’m not ready for that.”

“That’s not how I meant it,” he said quickly and ducked, chasing her gaze with his own, his voice steady and so fucking sure. “I mean that you could stay with us. We can get a cot in there for you, keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re okay.”

The offer was tempting on some level, but Darcy meant it when she said she wasn’t ready. Besides…

“I kind of think you two deserve some privacy, too,” she told him, gently, trying not shoot his hopes out of the sky.

Steve was ready though, seemingly latching onto the idea and not wanting to let go. “We can make do.”

“How about this, Muscles,” Darcy offered him a close-lipped smile, her heart softening. “I stay in my own room, but I’ll tell FRIDAY to notify you if I have an episode so you can come running to my rescue like some big, hunky hero.”

A beat of silence.

Sighing like he lost a battle he knew he was never going to win, Steve agreed simply, “Deal.”

Darcy reached out then, almost hesitantly, watching him to make sure her touch was welcome, and then tenderly ran her fingers through Steve’s hair. Mesmerized, she sifted through the silky locks, lips falling open. Glancing down, she saw that Steve had slid his eyes shut, basking in her touch.

And then a thought struck her.

“Where’s Bucky by the way?”

Steve’s eyes fluttered open. He pinned her with an unreadable look before a secret kind of grin slipped over his mouth. “Oh, he’s around… Why do you ask?”

The question felt dangerous and to be honest, Darcy wasn’t sure why she had asked (was maybe a little afraid to admit that she was curious to see him—after… after knowing everything). 

Instead, she covered it all with a silly grin, “I want to warn him that Jane is probably plotting his imminent death.”

“Should we be worried?”

“Extremely.”

* * *

The day passed easily enough. Darcy took things slowly, ambling around her room. Visitors popped in, like a flock of nervous mother hens. She escaped the constant questions, looks, or concerns by pulling on a plain, black long-sleeved shirt that she could tuck over most of her hand and also by napping. It was a strange thing, the exhaustion that she felt all the way down to her bones. It refused to release it’s hold on her, leaving the world in a muffled sort of state, like she was perpetually underwater.

Steve had eaten lunch with her and Thor had brought by dinner informing Darcy, to her completely and utter lack of surprise, that Jane was in a science binge with the stone. Apparently, she and Tony were actually working together—though from the expression on Thor’s face when he told her the news, it was a precarious truce.

By the time night had fallen, Darcy was feeling more like herself. She was sick of being in bed and her eyes didn’t want to focus on the words of her book any longer. Glancing out the large window, her eyes lifted to the tip of the crescent moon peeking down over the top of the glass.

Grinning, Darcy threw back her blankets and slipped on some sandals.

The roof was still easy enough to access and Darcy sucked in the wave of fresh air as it engulfed her. She walked over to the railing and braced her hands on the cold metal, lifting her gaze to the brilliant night sky. Stars twinkled above, glittering in the night, like old friends welcoming her home. After the chaos of the last few days, the soft silence of the evening was a balm to her soul. It cleared her mind and filled with a fragile sort of peace.

Darcy wasn’t sure how long she had been out there, holding onto the railing, letting starlight fill her. But she let out a breathy, unsurprised sort of chuckle when she heard the door to the deck creak open.

“Hey, Steve.” She called out softly, keeping her gaze turned upwards.

There was a pause.

“I can go get him if you want,” answered a voice like warm honey. Inhaling sharply, Darcy’s eyes flew to the new arrival, wide and blinking. 

Standing near the door in a white Henley with his hands stuffed in his jean pockets, dark hair pulled into a low bun at the base of his neck, was James Buchanan Barnes. Darcy’s jaw dropped and when she held his steady gaze, his stare was friendly and open, if not a little cautious.

“Mind if I join you?” He requested hesitantly.

She swallowed once, staring at him, before she cleared her throat. “Sure.”

Bucky considered her answer for a moment, gauging it, and then ambled over with languid steps. She watched his almost lazy approach, stomach fluttering nervously like a bird was trapped inside of her skin, its wings fluttering in a desperate attempt to find a way out. Her hands tightened on the railing as he stopped beside her.

He was almost as tall as Steve and slightly slimmer, but that didn’t mean much because she could still see the clear shape of his powerful form through his clothing. Whether he was aware of her open perusal of him (and she was pretty damn sure he was, if the tiny smirk on his lips was anything to go by), Bucky carefully kept his eyes on the sky above.

The stars reflected in his blue-gray eyes and he slowly bit his lower lip with a grin before releasing it. “ _So_ … which star is mine?”

“Oh, my god,” Darcy groaned, covering her face with her hands. Embarrassment colored her voice as it came out muffled between her fingers. “I can’t believe he told you that.”

The deep chuckle was felt before she ever heard it and Bucky slanted his eyes to her. “There isn’t much Steve doesn’t tell me.” Darcy’s skin pinked at that thought—especially considering what she and Steve had done a few feet from where the two of them were standing now. Bucky caught her flinch and turned sideways, leaning against the railing now, facing her directly. “Does it bother you?”

Unsure what to say, Darcy just shook her head.

Eyeing her for a moment longer, he then twisted back around and rested his forearms on the cool metal railing. Darcy curled her lips over her teeth, pressing them together tightly. Her leg jiggled in a nervous tick.

And then a shoulder bumped into hers.

“C’mon, show me,” Bucky nudged her, and Darcy blushed deeply. The dark-haired man added, “No need to be embarrassed about it. I’m curious now. What kind of star am I?”

She didn’t answer and he nudged her again until Darcy’s lips parted in a smile. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and then inhaled, “Bottom right corner of the moon. The little guy.”

Bucky let out a soft groan, dropping his head dramatically to stare at the ground. When he raised his face again, he lifted a dark brow at Darcy, voice flat. “The little guy?”

She watched, wide-eyed.

“Uh huh.”

“I ain’t never been the little guy in my entire life,” he admitted with a smirk and a heavy side glance at Darcy. There was something she was missing, besides the obvious underlying implication (and she was _not_ going to think about that, nope, no way… oh god, she was thinking about it). After a moment Bucky twisted his torso and turned to face her once again. His eyes sparkled and Darcy got the distinct feeling that she was going to be in deep trouble with this man. “Also never had a girl name a star after me before.”

Feeling sassy, she scoffed out, “First time for everything,” and then a naughty grin overtook her and she added with a snicker, “And Steve _is_ bigger than you.”

Bucky did not look amused and Darcy laughed, flapping her hand.

“Taller, wider, in the general sense of the word.”

Both of them grinned at her attempt to joke and then they fell quiet, looking back to the sky.

“He wasn’t always,” Bucky commented at last. “And I’m older than him, more than a year.”

“Ah, so does that make you one-hundred and one or one-hundred? I’ve lost track of you old men, you know.”

A laugh punched out of Bucky’s chest and he grinned almost shyly, not quite looking at her. It gave Darcy the excuse to stare at him some more.

“I don’t really know how old I am,” he flicked his eyes her way, catching her mid-stare with no small amount of satisfaction. With a curl of his lips, Bucky continued, “It’s hard to know what to go by, I spent a long time in cryo, coming out briefly before going back under. So am I really over a hundred or am I just twenty-nine. I don’t know,” he shrugged. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” Darcy told him before adding, “I just turned twenty-six not too long ago.”

She didn’t know why she told him that, but the words were out of her mouth before she could do anything about that. Bucky’s interest was piqued.

“Yeah? When was the big day?”

“April first,” she said and then quietly added, “Three days before the Snap.”

He just stared at her for a long time. Long enough that Darcy nervously flicked her gaze away, tilting her face to the endless sea of lights hovering above them. Silence stretched between them and it was a heavy thing, though not necessarily uncomfortable… just… different. Charged, almost, like the air itself was gasoline fumes and both of them had to wade through it with great care.

The fact that Bucky was staring at her the way that he was wasn’t helping.

He watched her like she watched the sky—and he didn’t even try to hide it. Darcy shifted on her feet after a while, tugging the sleeve of her shirt further over her hand. Swallowing, she gathered her courage and turned to look at him, calling him out.

“You’re staring.”

Bucky nodded easily with a low rumbling, “I know.”

“We’re supposed to be star-gazing,” Darcy admonished him, not knowing what else to say. But then he smiled, the happy kind where his eyes crinkled at the corners, and Darcy’s breath locked in her chest. The man was fucking _stunning_.

“I am star-gazing.”

It took a minute for her to register what he was saying and then Darcy laughed lightly, “That was cheesy.”

“A bit,” Bucky admitted with a wide grin but he kept his gaze on her. “I know Steve already told you, but you should hear it from me,” he began suddenly and Darcy turned, her heart racing at the change in his voice. Bucky’s eyes softened, “I want to know you, Darcy.”

And there it was.

Her pulse jumped in her throat. “War is a weird time to want to get to know someone, Sarge.”

The nickname slipped and Darcy found that she liked it almost as much as she liked Muscles. Oh boy. Yep. She was in deep, deep trouble here.

“Sarge, huh?” Bucky perked up at that, looking at her like she was a surprise he hadn’t expected. 

Darcy made a face and shrugged. Bucky’s voice dropped low then, taking on an almost gravelly drawl and Darcy picked up the hints of Brooklyn weaving in his syllables.

“I mean it, Darcy. I want to get to know you. Steve told me about you and him—not everything,” Bucky assured when she cast a worried glance his way. “But enough… Like I told him, neither of you are exactly subtle, so I would have picked up on it eventually. In fact, I already had before he opened his mouth.”

“I didn’t realize this sort of this was supposed to be subtle,” Darcy bristled slightly.

“It’s not,” Bucky shook his head. “Not when it’s real.”

Darcy went still, all pretense sliding off of her shoulders like a silk chemise pooling at her feet. The breeze blew softly over them, catching a stray hair of hers, pulling it across her forehead. Bucky’s eyes flew to it and she held her breath as he lifted his hand and gently brushed it back behind her ear.

The look he hit her with them was devastatingly vulnerable, almost naked, and she knew in that instant that whatever he said next was going to mean a lot to him.

“Don’t you want to know me?” He asked, his voice inexplicably soft. Swallowing wetly, Bucky pressed further, “Why do you think it is that I heard your voice in the dark? That _you_ were the one to wake me up?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy told him, her voice quiet and breathy.

“I think you do. I think the answer is right in front of you and you’re scared of it.” Bucky breathed in and Darcy’s chest rose at the exact same time, breathing with him. His eyes searched her face and when he spoke next, his words were a murmur, even and low and careful. “Do you have the dreams, too?”

Startled, Darcy’s throat tightened. “Yes.”

“What do you remember from them?”

There were words she wanted to say, but it was a dangerous thing, this situation, this man, especially when she didn’t know what the outcome would be. But bravery was burning through her veins like fire and she held his eyes and said it anyway.

“You,” she spoke, her voice nothing but a ghost of a whisper. “Always you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky, my love, how I have missed writing thee. Shall I tell of all the ways? Your smirks, your sass, your dependability. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Thank you to everyone who has read this story and continue to support it. I appreciate every single one of you!
> 
> Don’t forget to say hello on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/)!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray, new chapter is here! Please excuse the delay, I had another weird sick spell (COVID became bronchitis) and then had to adjust to getting back into the office. That being said, enjoy! It’s an absolute BEAST.

There were some days that Darcy Lewis was not at all a fan of living among superheroes. 

For starters, her insurance rates were through the roof. Trying to make a claim to an agent concerning the destruction of her vehicle in London had been an absolute nightmare. Apparently ‘space violence’ was not on their list of viable disasters. And then there was the whole never-ending threat of world domination, danger, and annihilation. 

Aliens. 

Dark Elves. 

Intergalactic family feuds (no, she did not mean the Skywalker family). 

To top it all off there was the mere fact that she, a simple human, was constantly reminded of her utter inadequacy and imperfection in the presence of these gods, geniuses, and super soldiers.

However, as she sat, huddled on a narrow walkway high above the Compound hangar peering between the metal railings at the powerful, sweaty, grunting figures below, Darcy decided that this was one of those days that she was _very much_ a fan of living among superheroes. 

The view alone was worth it. 

Was she spying on Steve and Bucky as they trained? No, not really. Darcy called this… _observing_. She worked with scientists after all and one thing she had learned was how important it was to gather ample data, especially when such research could help her make a properly informed decision about her future. 

Okay, she was totally spying.

But really, could anyone blame her? This was _Captain America_ and the _Winter Soldier_ duking it out in skintight Under Armour shirts that clung to every line and dip of their muscles—of which there were many. Two of the deadliest men to walk this earth… who also happened to be lovers… _grunting_. A lot. 

Like, a lot, a lot.

There was no way in hell she was missing this. 

Sipping at her now lukewarm coffee with lifted brows, Darcy swallowed and tilted her head to the side as she openly admired the sheer male beauty below. She had woken up earlier than usual that morning (giddy for reasons she wasn’t quite ready to name), grabbed her usual cup of coffee, and somehow managed to find her way into the hangar-turned-training-center where the team was currently holding sparring sessions. Her arrival had gone completely unnoticed as she crept into a darkened corner on the second level observatory deck and slid down to the ground before settling in to watch the show.

The show, mostly, being Steven Grant Rogers.

Out of all of her options, Darcy felt comfortable watching him. Her eyes hungrily roved over his powerful frame, mind flashing with frightening clarity to the memory of what it felt like to have him between her legs, straddling his hips with her tongue in his hot mouth. Admittedly, her gaze dropped down to his magnificent ass more than once (and with deep approval, she might add).

But from a fighting standpoint, it was clear that Steve was the aggressor in this training session. He moved with the fury of a living hurricane, all brute force, spinning and leaping through the air with agility that she had only ever seen performed by professional gymnasts.

Steve’s opponent, however, Darcy had a harder time giving herself permission to observe.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Darcy couldn’t deny that Bucky was beautiful. He truly was, even covered in a sheen of sweat and grinning like a mad fool as he slipped again and again out of Steve’s reach—like liquid that would not be contained and refused to be cornered. But he was also unfamiliar to her and in some ways, made her far more nervous than Steve ever had. Not in a threatening manner, but in a way that made her feel like she was playing with fire.

Especially after last night on the roof.

Neither of them had said much after Darcy’s admission about the dreams. She could tell that Bucky had wanted to push and ask more, but for some reason, he held back, the words never escaping his lips. Instead, Bucky had merely stayed by her side in a not-entirely-comfortable silence, letting her get used to his presence or perhaps he to hers. 

He had walked her back to her room when she was ready to turn in, wishing her a polite goodnight before sauntering off with his hands in his pockets. Darcy had watched him until he reached the end of the hall. What she hadn’t expected was for Bucky to suddenly glance over his shoulder with a smug grin, like he knew she was still looking. Darcy had let out a completely undignified squeak and slammed her door shut, his low masculine chuckle chasing her all the way down the hall and into her room.

_For fuck’s sake._

Snapping back to herself, Darcy’s fingers tightened around her coffee mug as she focused back on the sparring session. 

Everyone had seen the footage from the infamous fight on the bridge. It had overwhelmed Twitter within minutes of being released and for weeks was the main content taking up the evening news. 

Lethal. Devastating. Violent. Destructive.

That was what the media labeled Steve and Bucky’s combat. But as Darcy watched the two of them move with such precision, she found that it more like a dance—one of lethal grace. They both knew the steps and how to counter-step without a second thought… or perhaps it was that they both knew the partner.

The two of them had been going at it for a solid fifteen minutes now and neither man showed signs of tiring. Not that she really expected them to, being super soldiers and all… The only issue was that the noises they were making was really getting to be obscene. If she closed her eyes, she was pretty sure her toes would curl.

A wicked grin crept over her lips.

And then she saw the knife.

Steve had Bucky backed into a corner and it looked like it was all over until the dark-haired man pulled the blade out. He flipped it expertly in his right hand while Steve was distracted attacking his left side, trying to deal with that deadly arm.

Fear rocketed through Darcy, like a bolt of lightning. She dropped her mug and scrambled gracelessly to her feet with a wordless shout of warning.

The instant it tore loose from her throat, Steve froze and whipped his head up, crushing blue eyes locking in on Darcy in alarm. Not for himself, but for _her_. She rushed forward out of her corner, gripping the railing with both hands like she would jump over it herself, her heart thundering in her chest. And then his gaze snapped back to Bucky as the brunette pressed the blade of his knife lightly to Steve’s throat.

A beat of silence.

And then—

“Gotcha,” Bucky declared with a shit eating grin and a waggle of his brows.

Darcy blinked and then frowned deeply. Off to the side, Clint gave a slow applaud while Natasha kept her expression carefully blank. Darcy looked at them, utterly confused at their lack of concern, and then back to Bucky and Steve.

Bucky pulled the knife away from Steve’s neck and turned to face her. He held it up and pressed the tip into the flesh of his right, still wearing that same, stupid smile.

“It’s a training blade,” Bucky assured her in a louder voice and Darcy’s face went aflame. 

_Of course, it is. God, I’m an idiot._

As if he had read her embarrassment, Bucky’s smile became a touch softer. “Don’t worry, Sunshine, I’m not gonna gut, Steve here. He’s too pretty. However,” he slanted a cocky glance at the frustrated, panting blond. “I _did_ win that round.”

“Oh, bullshit you did,” Steve sneered, clearly not taking his loss very well. His hands went to his narrow hips, muttering, “There was a distraction.”

“There’s distractions in the field, too.”

Steve hit Bucky a withering glare and called out in a commanding tone, not once taking his eyes away from the dark-haired man, “Clint, you’re up—you and Barnes, since he’s still got _so much_ energy.”

Bucky laughed, tucking the knife away.

“If you presented more of a challenge, Rogers, maybe I’d be wiped out.”

Steve simmered and ran his tongue over his teeth. The blond murmured something to Bucky, too quiet for Darcy to hear, but from the way Bucky went utterly still and then slid his eyes over Steve like he was sex on a fucking stick, she had an idea as to what was the subject. Her brows lifted; curiosity piqued. But then Clint was stepping onto the mats, breaking the moment as he bounced lightly on his toes and shook out his arms.

“C’mon, we don’t have all day for you two to flirt,” there was a smirk in Clint’s voice. “Fight now, fuck later.”

Bucky’s gaze lingered on Steve as he slowly stepped backwards onto the mats. Finally, he rolled his shoulders, as if he were trying to shake off whatever Steve had said and turned towards the archer. 

“Alright Barton let’s go then,” Bucky pointed a finger at him. “One rule: no goddamn paintball guns. I know you got them stashed around here and I don’t wanna be picking fuckin’ neon green shit out of my ears. Strictly hand to hand.”

“Says the asshole who brought out a knife.”

Bucky’s grin was a blade in and of itself. “There were extenuating circumstances.”

“Oh?” Clint asked lightly as they began to slowly circle one another. “What were those?”

The only answer Bucky gave was a feral looking smile, and then he struck. 

As the fight began, Darcy gradually released the railing from the white-knuckled grip she had, her breath deliberately deflating out of her chest. Below, as he drank from a water bottle, Steve kept his gaze on her and it was like a goddamn brand on her skin. She watched his throat work, bobbing as he swallowed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then smoothed out his beard and despite the rather impressive show Clint and Bucky were giving, Steve continued to stare. At her. His eyes didn’t twinkle with mischief, weren’t soft with affection, no, this look he was giving her was one thing and one thing alone: hunger. 

Steve looked like a man who would eat her alive. 

And the worst part was, Darcy knew it. She knew it and _welcomed_ it, even. 

Searing heat blossomed in the pit of her stomach and it was as if her skin couldn’t quite hold her in. Darcy shifted on her feet under his piercing gaze.

“Your methods of espionage leave much to be desired,” came an abrupt deep voice from behind her. Darcy yelped, whirling around in surprise, dark hair spinning out like a fan. Thor stood there, the door behind him slowly closing shut. His lips curled upwards as he nodded to the team below. “I am afraid you have been discovered.”

She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that he was talking about Steve. Scrunching her nose, heart still thudding against her ribs, Darcy shrugged. “Oops? Guess it’s a good thing that I’m not a spy, then.”

Thor grinned and stepped closer. A glare of light caught on the object in his hand, drawing her attention. It was a small, metallic cylinder, longer than a lipstick tube but not much bigger than the god’s index finger. She noted the way he held it with great care.

Darcy nodded her chin at it curiously, “Whatcha got, Big Guy?” 

“A tonic.”

“What’s in this…” her brows pinched, and she tilted her head, “tonic?”

The God of Thunder paused, glancing down at the tube for a long moment. He seemed to be thinking very hard, and then his eyes flashed up to hers. “Strength.”

“Strength?” Darcy quirked one brow and Thor stared at her, nodding slowly. “Is it for me?”

Another solemn nod. 

Darcy’s eyes flicked off to the side. She subconsciously tugged the long black sleeve of her simple shirt further over her right hand—over the glaring, red scars she wasn’t ready to show the world. Thor caught the movement.

He opened his mouth, “Darcy—”

“If I drink that, will I have Super Strength?” She piped up; her voice purposefully light. With a grin, Darcy poked at her squishy bicep. “God-like strength? Because I’m not going to lie, that would be _stupendous_.”

Thor said nothing and Darcy silently willed the god to drop the subject she saw resting on the tip of his tongue. 

Bruce had given her strict orders to rest, informing her that FRIDAY would also be monitoring her health as an added precaution. She had followed his instructions to the letter and so far it had been _such_ a good morning. She had been able to pretend that everything was fine, that her arm wasn’t ruined, that she wasn’t having her soul sucked dry by an infinity stone, that she wasn’t going to die a horrible death soon, that the world hadn’t been thrown into utter chaos, and Darcy found that she wasn’t quite ready to jump back into reality.

Eventually, Thor released a breath and looked down at the tonic in his hands. 

“No, I am afraid not,” his admission was slow. “This is _Eirflower_ tonic. It will speed your recovery, boost your immunity, and provide you with full nutrition,” Thor’s voice became quiet, like this in and of itself was an offering. Darcy’s eyes dropped to the cylinder once more and she heard him audibly swallow, his voice low, words careful. “It… it is something the healers in Asgard gave to warriors after battle. They taught me how to make it for myself and now I make it for you.”

He looked at her then, eyes bright and honest and hopeful, and something in Darcy gave way. 

Touched, she asked gently, “Thank you, that’s… that’s very kind of you, Thor. Is it safe—for me? Being human and all?”

“I have adjusted it so that it will not overwhelm your mortal form.”

Grinning to herself, Darcy couldn’t help but add, “And here I thought Ariana Grande told us all that God was a woman.”

“From my experience,” Thor mused sagely, “I am inclined to agree with that statement.”

A laugh trickled out of Darcy, soft and sweet, and silence stretched between them. The sounds of the sparring below were slowly drowned out and Darcy found herself taking a minute to really look at Thor, this Asgardian god. He was an ancient being with powers beyond any of them, with his mismatched eyes, his shorn hair, his strong hands littered with scars from a millennia of training with a blade… and yet, despite all of the violence, all of the death he had seen—or perhaps because of it—he chose to heal. 

_When I was a young boy, the healers in Asgard believed that I had a gift for the art. Expectations though of the crown prince and future king of Asgard were that he be a fierce and brave warrior. Not a healer. So that is what I became._

It was that memory, that thought, that had Darcy stepping forward and reaching for the tonic. 

The tube was cool to the touch, almost icy against her fingertips. She peered down into the container, feeling Thor’s weighty gaze assessing her judgement, and then lifted it to her nose and sniffed delicately.

A sweet floral scent floated up to greet her like an old friend, curling in her lungs like smoke rising into the air. There was honey and something almost like lavender but not quite; a sigh escaped her lips and her eyes involuntarily slid shut. It carried the promise of a lazy morning in a warm, sunlit bed of silk after the best and deepest sleep of her life.

“It smells good,” she breathed out.

Thor smiled knowingly. “It tastes even better.”

Opening her eyes, Darcy looked at him for a long moment and then held his gaze as she knocked the tonic back in a single gulp. 

And _oh_ , Thor was _right_. 

Her senses were almost instantly immersed. Its taste was sweet and light and made Darcy want to float away on a summer breeze. There was a slight tingle as it slid down her throat and reached her belly and a part of her brain wondered if it was magic. If it was, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Even as it spread down her arms and legs through the tips of her fingers and into her feet. 

Licking her lips to catch every last drop, she peered at the cylinder before flicking her gaze up to Thor. A strange sense of energy came over her, not the kind that had her heart racing, but the kind that was born out of true, deep rest. Her mouth split into a massive smile.

The god’s eyes roved over her face and for the briefest of seconds, Thor looked worried. Darcy realized she had been slightly swaying on her feet.

She stopped, her smile fading, but Thor continued to watch her with that concerned expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

A pause.

“I am waiting to see if you grow a second head.”

Darcy looked at Thor in alarm and when his face did not change, she squeaked, “Wait, are you serious?!”

Thor nodded once, a simple dip of his chin.

“It has happened once before and you can never be too sure.” 

Darcy’s eyes bulged and she did an internal inspection. Panic made her chest rise and fall rapidly with her breathing but everything felt… normal. She was alert, awake, but she felt strong. Stronger than she had since she first touched the Soul Stone. The near constant tremor that had been in her hands was gone, stilled, and her lungs were able to fully inhale. Darcy patted her face, her chest, her neck, her belly.

And then Thor began to laugh.

Her eyes flashed to his.

“I only jest,” the god chuckled. “But oh, you should have seen your face!”

“Ugh, _rude_.” Darcy gasped and then pressed her lips together, closing in on him so she could whack him on his chest. “That was mean, Thor.” 

Thor only laughed louder, and Darcy stood there, glowering. There was a moment where she seriously considered chucking the cylinder at the god’s big, stupid head.

Wiping his eyes, Thor’s laughter quieted as he added, “Peace, Darcy. Do not fret, you will be perfectly fine… But do tell me if you feel any ill effect.”

Her mouth puckered like she had eaten something sour and Darcy rolled her eyes before handing the cylinder back to him. With a dramatic huff, she spun and faced the sparring mats. Leaning her elbows on the railing, Darcy flicked her eyes over the slowing match between Clint and Bucky before her traitorous eyes snuck a glance at Steve. He was next to Natasha now, one arm crossed over his chest, the other a loosely held fist over his mouth. The gray shirt he wore was drenched in sweat and his arms bulged pleasantly out of the sleeves. Darcy let her eyes trace the veins popping in his muscled forearms and then the clear Dorito-esque shape of his form right down to his trim waist.

A very small part of her brain that sounded suspiciously like Jane reminded her that staring was rude, but seeing that Bucky had taken the opportunity to so obviously stare at her last night, Darcy thought she had the same right—and so she stared.

Until Steve’s eyes flashed up with surprising speed and landed on hers. A zap of invisible electricity shot across the hangar, and Darcy actually shook, feeling it in her goddamn _toes_. 

Steve’s lips curved slightly, eyes twinkling now, clearly saying ‘ _caught you_ ’. Flustered, Darcy played with the sleeve of her shirt, twisting it, as she smiled at him and then, unable to stop herself, she raised her hand, wiggling her fingers in his direction. In return, Steve’s grin grew and Darcy’s breath hitched at the sight of it.

He was a _stunning_ man.

“Do you truly love him?”

With a jolt, she blinked and tore her eyes away from Steve to look at Thor. Her cheeks burned, the flush bleeding down into her neck and chest as she realized that she had almost completely forgotten Thor’s presence.

The god watched her calmly and Darcy swallowed like there was something stuck in her throat. 

“Yes,” she said at last, her voice very honest. “I think so.”

Silence.

“And what of James?”

Darcy’s stomach clenched. Her eyes slid to Thor, heart thudding in her chest as she asked carefully, “What do you mean?”

Thor didn’t answer her right away, his gaze simply drifting back to the mats. Darcy’s eyes followed. Clint and Bucky had finished, only because Natasha called the fight after it became clear that neither man was going to concede to the other. Tossing water bottles at them both, Steve then turned to the Black Widow, his expression a mixture of boyish invitation and challenge.

Darcy watched as Natasha and Steve now stepped out onto the sparring floor, her eyes flashing briefly to Bucky as he wiped down his face using the bottom half of his shirt. Her brain misfired for a second as she took in the bared skin of his stomach, the cut of his abs and those dangerous v-lines along the inside of his hips. 

She tore her gaze away with a sharp inhale, tapping her fingers nervously on the railing.

“Darcy…” Thor started slowly and Darcy panicked, her eyes snapping to his.

“Thor, it’s—”

“Darcy,” the god said again, softer. He placed a gentle hand on her arm. “I need to be honest with you, I came here this morning for two reasons. First, to give you the tonic, but the second, to apologize.”

Darcy went very still. “Apologize for what?” 

The God of Thunder sighed.

“Because I fear that in my desire to protect you, I have overstepped. I… it is difficult for me,” Thor motioned to the mats below and then paused, turning his face towards the ground with a squint. “Do you remember the Lady Sif?”

She straightened, one hand still resting on the railing.

“Badass woman with the Warriors Three?”

Thor smiled softly and there was something terribly sad living in that smile, in whatever memory he was seeing now in his mind. “Yes,” he told her and then his voice became quieter, “There was a time that she and I…”

He trailed off and Darcy filled in the blank all too easily; her brows shot up to her hairline.

“The two of you? Really?”

“It never quite happened,” Thor corrected and then sucked in a deep breath, as if preparing himself to face something unpleasant. Darcy just stared up at him, waiting as he gathered his thoughts. “Lady Sif and I knew each other as children, grew beside one another, fought with each other and for each other. In my youth I lusted after her, as did many of us, but she had other quarry. She was never quite ready,” Thor stopped, his mouth tightening. “And then when she was… I found Jane. It was only after I found Jane that Lady Sif revealed that she had been pining after me for many years—secretly. Her heart not ready or willing to admit to it until… until it was too late. I still care deeply for Sif, love her, even.”

“But not in the way that she wants,” Darcy finished, her voice very quiet.

Thor stared straight ahead, seeing things beyond Darcy’s sight. After a long while, he breathed out, “Aye. Or in the way she deserves. In the end, I shattered her heart. Not out of cruelty, but Jane is…”

“Jane.”

“Yes,” Thor turned to Darcy then, adoration and devotion stripped bare in his gaze. His love for her best friend burned like a pyre at night, unmistakable and true, lighting the way home. “She is my heart, completely, wholly, and I love her because I know no other way.”

Giving him a soft smile, Darcy shifted to Thor’s side, wrapping her hands around his big arm. She rested her cheek against his bicep. He let her, hanging his head, something bittersweet floating in and out of his face.

“What happened to Sif?” Darcy asked eventually.

It was a long time before Thor answered, but when he did, his voice was an echo of its normal timbre. “She left Asgard not long after I made my intentions with Jane clear. To carve out her own path of glory.”

“You haven’t heard from her?”

“I am sure, when she is ready, she will find her way back.”

Darcy thought about that, about the underlying truth that for gods and goddesses like Thor and Sif, they had thousands of years to live their lives. They had _time_. Time to explore the universe, to find their way, to remake themselves again and again. 

Time that Darcy was swiftly running out of. 

She lifted her head away from his arm, but still held it in her grip, her voice careful. “Thor… why are you telling me all of this?”

A pause.

“Because I know Steven,” he said at last, looking down at her. “He is a good man, quite possibly the most honorable warrior that I have known here on Midgard. But I have also seen his heart bleed for another in ways that…” The God of Thunder trailed off, shaking his head, his face pinching as though he were searching for the right way to say it. And then—

“He and James are destiny.”

Darcy froze, her lips parting slightly. It was a truth that she had already known but hearing it from Thor made it all the more real. Thor lifted a hand and brushed a knuckle down Darcy’s cheek with the utmost care.

“It is written on their souls and I can see it with my waking eyes. I heard of how he tore apart this world, this team, to protect James and one does not do such a thing unless…” Thor swallowed, his voice becoming firmer. “Because of this, I did not— _could not_ bear the idea of you being caught in the middle and thus standing the chance of being hurt.” Thor caught her chin, lifting her face so that she had to hold his gaze. Stars wheeled there, swirling endlessly, an entire galaxy living within him, ever expanding. “I did not want to see in you the same heartache that I brought upon Lady Sif.”

Slowly, Darcy’s eyes closed. Her throat tightened and she squeezed Thor’s arm gently in acknowledgement. Her heart swelled with something, something that had been planted there only recently, something that hadn’t had the chance yet to grow but she felt it cracking open and taking root in her nonetheless. 

When she opened her eyes, the words that tumbled out of her mouth were inexplicably soft. “Thor, I appreciate that but it’s… it’s not the same situation. Steve, when he came to my room back at the clinic… he—it’s complicated.”

Thor said nothing as he searched her face, his eyes flicking between both of hers. Darcy eventually looked away, biting her lip, not ready to say anything more because _she_ didn’t know anything more. 

Down on the mats, she caught Bucky openly watching the two of them, completely ignoring the spar. Darcy didn’t know what to make of the look on his face but when he realized that she was staring back at him, his whole demeanor shifted so fast that she almost wondered if she had imagined the steely look in his eyes.

But now Bucky merely tilted his head, boldly holding Darcy’s gaze, and then the bastard outright winked. Darcy flinched back in surprise and Bucky drank in her response with a slow, growing grin that was far too sensual for his own good.

“Ah, I see,” Thor hummed, his voice distracted, and Darcy whipped her head up. The God of Thunder was closely observing the interaction with a cocked brow and then he slanted a _look_ at her. Thor’s voice bled into amusement as he began again, “Perhaps this is truly different. Darcy, what goes on between you, Steven, and James—”

Darcy’s hand clenched, her nails digging into Thor’s arm, every muscle in her body freezing up. 

Thor’s lips twisted in amusement and leaned down slightly to murmur, “I will remind you that I am a god and I see more than you ever will. On Asgard it is not so uncommon.” When Darcy’s brows furrowed, Thor cleared his throat, gently clarifying for her, “Three. A trio.” 

_I am not ready for this conversation_ , she very much wanted to say but instead Darcy was pretty sure she forgot how to even breathe.

“Oh,” was all that she managed and even that took effort.

Thor just looked at her.

“I admit that I do not know James very well, but… I trust Steven. Above even that, I trust _you_ , Darcy.” Her eyes flashed to his and Thor continued, holding her gaze, his words quiet and true. “I trust you to know your own heart as only you can. But for as long as I live, I offer you my counsel, my friendship, my honesty, my strength. Whatever and whenever you have need of me, I am here.”

An unnamable emotion welled in her throat and her heart cracked just a little. Screwing her eyes shut, she hugged his arm tighter, whispering, “Thank you. And you have the same from me.”

Thor pulled his arm out of her grasp and wrapped it over her shoulders, tucking her into his warm side. She took full advantage of the hug and nuzzled her way in closer, sighing. 

“I dearly hope that you understand how precious you are to me, Darcy,” she felt the rumble of his words more than she heard them. “Most humans fear that which is different from them. But you and Jane never have. You saw me at my worst, most selfish, barbaric, and wounded and you did not run in fear—even when you should have. You stood your ground and… I still find it rather humorous that fate elected to drop me into the hands of two human women; one who chased the stars and another who wielded lightning.” Both of them shared a secret smile at that and then Thor voice grew even quieter. “I know that I was not easy to love then, but both you and Jane welcomed me with open arms. I never expected such kindness from humans. I come from a place that values honor and strength and courage and glorious death, but it is here, in Midgard, that I learned compassion. And it is that kindness and compassion that I have so desired to guard in you. It a rare gift in a universe that makes it easy to become cold and hard and brutal.”

Tears pricked in Darcy’s eyes and she found herself blinking very fast. A hot lump began to build in the base of her throat, filling and swelling quickly. Gasping wetly, she turned completely into Thor’s side, wrapping her arms around his waist, squeezing with all of her might. 

“I love you, Thor,” her voice was muffled in the material of his shirt. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you that, but I really do.”

Thor dropped a sweet kiss on top of her head. “Will you forgive me for being so difficult?”

“I already have.”

They stood like that for a while… until—

“However, it is my duty to inform you that if you ever are in need though of, say, a very large axe, I happen to have one. It would be most effective in removing specific… body parts.”

A laugh punched its way out of Darcy’s chest. “I’ll keep that in mind, Big Guy. Now, hush you. I require more snuggles after all this sappy talk. It’s part of my medication.”

“Then I am honored to give you the proper dosage.”

* * *

Eventually Thor was cajoled into joining the sparring sessions and Darcy spent the rest of the morning happily cheering on her favorite god. When it became apparent though that this whole training was going to extend beyond lunch, Darcy slipped out in search of food.

The kitchen was empty when she got there. She hummed to herself as she dug through the pantry. Rifling through it, she found a package of bagels. Her stomach growled in response and Darcy found herself hungrier than she had felt in almost a week.

Part of her wondered if her restored appetite had to do with the Asgardian tonic.

“FRIDAY?” Darcy called absently as she now searched the fridge for cream cheese. She still wanted to cry at the sight of all the freshly stocked fruits and vegetables. Those early days at the safehouse left much to be desired when it came to food choices.

“ _How may I be of assistance, Miss Lewis?_ ”

Leaning out of the fridge, Darcy lifted her eyes to the ceiling (she still hadn’t quite figured out what was the proper or polite way to speak to the AI). “Do you know where Jane is?”

“ _She is in the labs with Sir_ ,” FRIDAY supplied easily.

In all honesty, she didn’t really need to ask where Jane was. Darcy knew because she knew Jane and if Jane was going to be anywhere, it would be the labs working on her data or the roof searching the skies.

“I take it she hasn’t eaten yet?” Darcy’s eyes narrowed in thought, her Jane-senses bouncing around her brain like a pin-ball machine.

“ _Not today_ ,” FRIDAY informed her and then there was a slight pause, as though the AI was hesitating before it added, “ _And neither has Sir_.”

Darcy hummed, grinning slightly at the not-so-subtle hint FRIDAY was offering. Sighing, she rolled her eyes, “Scientists, they’re all the same. I’ll bring them lunch, or something like that. Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“ _Thank_ you _, Miss Lewis_ ,” FRIDAY said a second later and Darcy didn’t know what to think about the emotion, genuine emotion, she heard in the AI’s voice.

Returning to her quest for cream cheese with gusto, Darcy crowed in triumph when she found an unopened package of it in one of the sliding drawers. Grabbing a few nutrition bars, dried fruit, the bagels, and the cream cheese, Darcy headed off to the labs feeling the most normal that she had since the day a fucking alien snapped his fingers and wiped out half the universe. She was feeding her workaholic, wonderfully brilliant best friend and boss who was on a science binge.

It felt… _right_.

At least up until she reached the hallway leading to the labs.

It was daylight and the path was well lit, but Darcy’s feet still halted, locking up, as she turned the corner. Her arms were full of food and snacks and the circumstances were so different from the last few times she was here. But there was a moment, a moment where terror gripped her heart and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was not enough oxygen on this planet to make her lungs to unclench.

Her mind flashed to a blood-red world with a sea of glass and a glowing orange light.

“ _Miss Lewis?_ ” FRIDAY called out suddenly, snapping Darcy back to herself.“ _My readings show your heartrate is considerably fast, would you like me to contact Doctor Banner?_ ”

Speaking was like dragging sandpaper out of her throat, but finally Darcy managed to inhale a bracing lungful of air and slowly exhale through her mouth with a shaky, “No, I’m okay, FRIDAY. Just was having a moment. I’m good though.”

“ _If you are sure,_ ” FRIDAY said after a long pause and Darcy swallowed, nodding jerkily.

“I am.”

_Pull yourself together, Darcy. You are not here to open the stone. You’re just bringing Jane food._

Darcy could sense the invisible attention of the AI as she shook herself and forced her feet to go down the familiar hallway. It was like walking through molasses, every step a struggle. By the time she reached the half window walls and spotted Jane, she was out of breath and there was a sheen of sweat slicking down her back.

In the lab, Jane and Tony were sitting at separate desks across the room but still facing each other, like two children that a teacher had split apart to stop them from fighting. Steeling herself, Darcy pulled on whatever strength Thor’s tonic had given her and plastered a fake smile on her lips as she barged in.

“Hello science people, I come bearing gifts,” she announced loudly. Jane didn’t look up right away, but she smiled widely as she finished scribbling down her thought. Tony, on the other hand, merely lifted his head and blinked at Darcy in confusion. She set down the spread on a nearby rolling metallic table and motioned to the pile, “It’s food, Stark. Sustenance.”

“Ah,” Tony nodded and then turned back to his screen. 

Rolling her eyes, Darcy glanced at Jane who had risen from her chair and was hurrying over.

“Bagels,” the astrophysicist murmured happily. But instead of going straight for the food, Jane tugged Darcy into a swift hug. “How are you feeling?”

Darcy rested her chin on Jane’s shoulder and hugged her back with a small smile, “Pretty good. Thor gave me some Asgardian magic, so I’m pretty much a goddess now.”

“And you weren’t before?” Jane pulled back with a grin.

“ _Well_ ,” Darcy drew out the word, “now I’m just extra.”

Jane snorted and untwisted the tie on the bagel package. “You’ve always been extra.”

“A bit,” the dark-haired woman agreed as she got the cream cheese and the butter knife. Jane handed her a bagel first and then grabbed a second for herself. Smiling at their old routine, Darcy smeared on a generous amount of cream cheese—just the way she knew Jane liked it—and then traded with the tiny scientist.

Darcy began on the second bagel, eyeing Tony who was either studiously ignoring the two of them or completely lost in his own world. Considering what Darcy knew of the science breed, she would bet on the latter.

“Really though,” Jane cut in, a white glob of cream cheese on the corner of her mouth as she chewed vigorously. Eyes the color of whiskey in sunlight flickered over her, searching, “How are you?”

“Good,” Darcy told her as she finished the second bagel and got out a third. Whether Tony wanted one or not, she would still offer it, and if he didn’t want it, she was pretty sure she and Jane could put it away easily. Filling it with cream cheese, Darcy continued with a secret sort of smile, “It’s been a good day.”

And it had been. It would always be a good day if she got to spy on the boys while they did the buff-dude things.

“I am Groot!”

Darcy nearly dropped the bagel in her hands at the high-pitched shout that rang out through the lab. Twisting around, her mouth split into a giant smile as Groot stood in the doorway, his big brown eyes bright and his small wooden mouth dropped open in a delayed but amazed, exaggerated gasp—as though he hadn’t quite figured out human reactions. 

“Hi Groot,” Darcy called out cheerfully. Unsurprised at his appearance, Jane just waved at him and then continued pillaging the snacks. Setting the bagel down carefully, Darcy turned around and gave the teenage tree a once over. “Have you grown? You look like you’ve grown.”

Groot preened under the suggestion, his leaves trembling.

“I’m watering him with Red Bull.”

Darcy slowly turned around to see Tony casually inspecting the assortment of food she brought them. She rubbed at her ear, not sure it was working correctly, “I’m sorry, you’re _what?_ ”

Tony leveled her with an unimpressed look and then waved his hand to Groot.

“Treebeard, show her.”

Groot needed no further instruction. He waltzed over on gangly legs to a nearby blue recycle bin and tipped it slightly so Darcy could see the contents. It was half full of empty cans.

“ _Oh, my god._ What have you done?”

“You know,” Tony chirped, his brows lifting, “You are surprisingly not the first person in my life to ask me that question.”

Off to the side, Jane had returned to her desk, but her eyes shot up from her work. “Hmm,” her voice was very flat, “I wonder why.”

Tony opened his mouth and Darcy got the feeling the two were about to start bickering, so to prevent it, she picked up the bagel and offered it to the billionaire. He stared at her for a long time but didn’t take it. Exasperated, Darcy shook it a little, both brows lifting meaningfully. And still, Tony did not move.

“What? You don’t like cream cheese? Because I can get something el—”

“I don’t like to be handed things,” he corrected her brusquely and Darcy’s lips flattened. So he added to the room in general, “I keep telling people to stop handing me things. No one ever listens.”

 _And just when I thought you were no longer the Dark Lord_.

“Don’t be an ass,” she scowled at him. “Take the food.”

Lifting his chin, Tony held out for a solid five seconds before he magnanimously plucked the bagel out of her hands and then promptly turned on his heel and walked back to his desk. Groot followed him like a baby duckling. Darcy watched them both go and then rolled her head around to give Jane a look that very clearly said, ‘ _Can you believe this guy?_ ’

“I know,” Jane scrunched up her delicate nose, admitting with a wince, “but he gave me shiny things.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes. “Traitor.”

Jane stuck out her tongue and then dropped her eyes back to her work. Which currently was nothing but a ratty notebook and a pen that had clearly been nibbled into deformation. The tiny woman was hunched over the notebook, sharp brows pulling together in deep thought and the sight of that alone made Darcy smile. For all of Stark’s technology, for all of the glitz and glam of this place, Jane was still very much… Jane. 

On the other side of the lab, Tony Stark was a different story. The billionaire was surrounded by multiple digital screens and his fingers moved like that of an orchestra conductor as he shifted around a 3D projection. It looked like the metal glove of one of his Iron Man suits. Tony waved his hand over the screen and the first layer disappeared, like turning the page of a book, it peeled back to reveal the whirring mechanical pieces underneath the surface. He studied it carefully, stuffing the last bite of his bagel in his mouth and brushing the crumbs off his hands.

Darcy smirked at the fact that he actually ate the damn food she brought. And then Tony stepped to the side to look at another screen and she saw it.

Sitting in the same fucking glass box, spinning endlessly in its own atmosphere, was the Soul Stone. 

A slow rising dread crept up her legs and her stomach turned. 

The world fell away, like crumbling rocks off a sheer cliff, tumbling into the bottomless sea. Rushing wind filled her ears and her right arm went numb and cold all at once. 

The otherworldly glow of it reflected in Darcy’s eyes, like a mirror, and it sucked the air from her lungs. She felt it then, the thread that tied this stone to her—but it wasn’t a thread at all. It was a chain of metal so cold that it burned, so thick that it would be impossible to slice through. And then, like it awakened from a deep slumber and lifted its head in her presence, the stone _pulled_. Whatever strength Thor’s tonic had given her leeched out of her veins and her hands began to shake.

She couldn’t move.

 _Hello Darcy_ , it sang in a single voice, clear and pure, like that of a small bird on a gray winter morning. And then more voices joined. 

_Darcy_. 

It was both one and many, old and young, male and female and it slithered up her spine like the cold underbelly of a snake. 

_Come, sweet child. Come, take hold of me._ It crooned and it was as though this was the voice spoken at the foundation of the earth itself. It was ancient and cruel and she knew it would swallow her whole but she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

Light rolled with shadow in the stone like a solar flare, like it was a living, breathing thing with a heartbeat.

_Darcy_

_Darcy_

_Darcy Darcy Darcy_

_DARCYDARCY—_

“Darcy?”

The Soul Stone disappeared from her sight, overtaken by a larger, blurred figure, and Darcy blinked almost drunkenly. Her lungs suddenly unlocked and began to work again; she gasped for air. Her vision cleared the more she blinked and slowly the blurred figure took the shape of Tony. 

He stared at her, expression hard and Darcy realized that it had been _his_ voice at the end that pulled her out. Dizzy, she tried to gather her thoughts, tearing her gaze away from the stone’s direction. Staring fiercely at the ground, Darcy sucked in a shuddering breath.

A pair of shoes suddenly appeared. She dragged her eyes up and met Tony’s unflinching gaze. This time, there was something almost like compassion there and it bled into his voice as he softly suggested, “Maybe you should go rest, kid.”

“It’s—yeah,” Darcy nodded more to herself than anyone else, her voice breathless. “I’m gonna go.”

It took everything in her not to run from the labs.

From the stone.

* * *

Approaching the door, her courage wavered. 

_Screw it._ Rocking onto her toes, Darcy winced and rapped her knuckles on the wood in three harsh knocks before she lost her nerve.

There was no sound on the other side. Darcy held her breath, eyes dropping the light she saw glowing underneath. A shadow suddenly appeared; her gaze snapped up as she forced herself not to take a step back but to hold her ground.

The door opened and Darcy smiled in a way that was more a show of teeth than joy, still badly shaken from what happened in the lab moments ago. 

Natasha’s brows pinched slightly in question, but the short redhead didn’t say a word otherwise.

“Hi,” Darcy’s smile became a grimace. “I need a favor.”

Muted green eyes searched her face and then Natasha silently stepped back and to the side. Hesitating, Darcy eyed the redhead before taking her up on the offer and stepping inside her room. 

The bed was rumpled and there was a wrinkled t-shirt on the ground. On the dresser sat a half empty glass and an old coffee mug. For some reason, the fact that the room wasn’t immaculate put Darcy at ease. 

“Do you need another wig?” Natasha prompted, her voice an amused murmur.

Darcy spun around, a small, surprised look on her face as she remembered her other odd request of the former spy back at the safehouse. She was shocked even further to find a miniscule smile on Natasha’s lips.

And then Darcy remembered why she was really here and her expression fell.

“No,” she rasped out. Natasha waited and Darcy forced her voice to be calm and sure as she spoke next. “I want a comprehensive list of all the Avengers that were snapped. Pictures specifically, if you can get them.”

Natasha’s eyes did not change and for a long time, a very long time, she simply looked at her.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “Why?”

The question was not unkind but Darcy found herself struggling to find an answer. She could feel it building in her like a volcano ready to erupt, and she tried to control it. Darcy tried to control it even though she knew it wouldn’t really work.

“Because I’m scared to death of that stone. I’m scared of dying and I think—I think I don’t have a choice in this, that we can’t slow it down. No matter what we try. It already has a hold of me and if I’m going to do this, really do this, then I need a reason why…” her voice was outright shaking now, as badly as her hands. But her eyes were burning, desperate. “I need to see their faces.”

Darcy’s heart pounded and Natasha was quiet for what felt like an eternity, her face completely unreadable.

“Please,” Darcy pleaded now, her voice cracking.

Suddenly the door to the bathroom opened and Darcy’s eyes jumped to it as Clint exited, toweling off his wet hair. 

“How soon?” He asked plainly and Natasha’s eyes flashed to him.

Darcy looked between the two of them, but Clint was watching her expectantly. She wet her lips, crossing her arms over her chest so she could tuck her trembling hands away. “As soon as you can get it.”

Clint eyed her.

“Done.”

Shock rolled through Darcy and it took her a few seconds to react, and then she sputtered out—“Wait, really?”

Clint nodded while pointedly ignoring the cool stare from his… whatever Natasha was to him. 

“Think of it as a thank you,” he told her and Darcy frowned, not understanding.

“For what?”

The archer just stared and deadpanned. “For suggesting a good place to find tequila back in New Mexico.” Then he cracked a grin and snorted. “Sorry, bad joke. It’s a thank you for… doing what all of us wished we could.”

Darcy didn’t know how to respond to that, didn’t even know what to think of it, so she shrugged uncomfortably and shifted on her feet, saying nothing.

Natasha finally caught Clint’s eye and it was clear that two of them were going to be having _words_. Not wanting to stick around for their upcoming conversation or give Clint a chance to change his mind, Darcy started backing towards the door.

“Well, I’ll be seeing you two around,” she hummed out and then paused as she reached for the doorknob, turning to look over her shoulder. She gave them a heavy look as her voice dropped low. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else I was here. It’s not—I don’t plan on doing anything stupid, I promise. But, I just… I need to see them.”

Darcy didn’t wait for them to answer before slipping through the door and letting it shut with a soft _click_.

* * *

“When Thor peels the skin off of your bones, I don’t think I’ll stop him.”

Clint walked back into the bathroom to hang up the towel he had just used. “He won’t.”

There was a long moment of quiet.

He saw her appear in the large mirror. Natasha watched him with a soft, worried gaze. The kind that she so rarely let show.

“ _Clint_.”

“’Tasha.” He mimicked. 

She frowned deeply and he sighed. Straightening out the towel so that it could properly airdry, the archer sucked in a bracing lungful of air before turning around and leaning his hip against the bathroom counter. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’ve been thinking lately,” Clint started, his voice turning quiet. Slowly, his gaze lifted to Natasha’s. “I don’t want her to bring them back.” 

He didn’t have to clarify who he meant, not when he saw a ragged, sharp pain flood the redheaded woman before him. 

Natasha nodded, understanding him in a way that few people who ever walked this earth could. Her eyes, when she looked at him, were lined with silver. “I wouldn’t either. Not unless I knew it was safe.”

“And the world isn’t safe right now. It’s the furthest thing from it. If I were to lose them again,” Clint’s voice broke and he wrestled for control. “I don’t think I’d like what I would become.”

Steps shifted closer and Clint hadn’t realized that at some point he had closed his eyes, not until he felt the smooth palm cupping the side of his face. His lashes were wet clumps against his cheeks as he blinked rapidly, staring down at Natasha. She said nothing, choosing instead to pull his forehead down to rest against her own. 

Clint held onto her slim shoulders with both hands and took in a shuddering breath.

“War is coming and we all know it,” he whispered in the silence. “Thanos has been quiet—too damn quiet and I don’t like it. If we want this world to be safe again, we’re going to need an army and if the only way we can get it is through _her_ —”

“If he discovers that Darcy can open the stone, can reverse what he’s done, she’ll be hunted. If she’s caught… that fate would be worse than the Soul Stone taking her life.”

Clint’s eyes snapped open and he felt an icy sort of rage build.

“Then we’ll just have to kill him before he finds out.”

* * *

She couldn’t sleep.

Darcy wasn’t entirely surprised. She still tried, slipping into comfortable pajamas and stretching out on the luxurious mattress. But instead of drifting off, Darcy stared blankly at the wall. 

After retreating to her own room for the remainder of the day, night came swiftly and with it, fear. Fear so strong, it immobilized her. _What if I can’t do it? Bringing back two people nearly killed me._

Then—

 _Bringing back two people actually_ did _kill me._

For the rest of her life she would never forget the moment Thor told her he restarted her heart with his lightning, the pain and fear swirling in his eyes. More importantly, she knew that Thor would never forget it. Sometimes she saw it, when he looked at her, the heaviness they both carried. It was the same thing she saw in Steve’s eyes, and in Natasha’s and Clint’s. 

Even if by some miracle she brought everyone back and they managed to kill Thanos, life would never go back to normal. For those who had been left behind in the Snap, there were scars they would carry to their graves.

Thinking of scars, Darcy rolled onto her back in bed. She pulled her right arm out from under the covers and pushed the long sleeve back, revealing the jagged, red scars, clearly visible even in the dim light. Twisting her hand back and forth, she solemnly stared at her marred skin.

_Am I ready to die?_

The truth was, she couldn’t answer that question. She thought she could a few days ago, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Forcing her thoughts off of death, Darcy screwed her eyes shut. She lay still for a few more minutes and then decided to fuck it. She threw the covers off herself and slid out of bed. Her bra hung over the back of a chair and Darcy snatched it, angrily pulling her arms out of her sleeves to put it on. The movements were jerky and her hands had yet to fully stop shaking; it took her three attempts to get the small hooks to catch before she could pull the straps of her bra over her shoulders.

Straightening her pajamas and making sure her boobs were properly caged, Darcy chose to go barefoot as she slipped into the hall. Despite the late hour, the Commons were awash in bright light and before she even entered the room, Darcy knew who else was awake.

The scent of coffee wafting through the halls clued her in.

As expected, Steve was sitting in a soft chair, his leg crossed over the other, pencil in hand and a familiar sketch book resting on his thigh; in front of him on the low table was a steaming mug of coffee. And stretched out on the long sofa near Steve’s chair reading a thick book was Bucky.

Darcy stopped in her tracks. Both men looked up in unison; her stomach clenched.

“Oh,” she blurted stupidly. Steve’s eyebrows lifted, his entire demeanor shifting into something teasing and Darcy narrowed her eyes at him in warning. “Don’t you _dare_ , Steve.”

He lifted his hands, the pencil held between his index and middle finger, shoulders shaking in a silent laugh. On the sofa, Bucky’s gaze flickered to the blond before sliding back to Darcy.

“Evening, Sunshine.”

She frowned but stayed where she was. “Is that a thing now?”

“I dunno, is Sarge a thing?”

“I called you that once.”

“Did you hear me complain?” 

She didn’t know how to respond to his teasing or the way his eyes lit up at their little volley, so she said nothing and made her way to the coffee maker. Next to it was a clean, empty mug looking for all the world like it was waiting for her. Staring at it, she twisted around to find Steve casually trying to look like he wasn’t watching her every move.

Bucky didn’t even try to hide his open perusal.

Darcy pointed at the mug. “Can I—is this…?”

“I figured you might come down for a cup like you used to.” Steve offered simply, blue eyes kind.

“Bullshit,” Bucky chortled and Steve’s jaw ticked. The brunette’s face was one big smirk as he told her, “He laid it out like breadcrumbs.”

“Ignore him,” Steve rolled his eyes. 

She very much wanted to say, _I don’t think I can_ , but couldn’t quite get the words out, even if it was the truth. Ignoring either man was a complete impossibility.

“I am glad you’re here though,” Steve added and sounded like he meant it with all of his heart.

Darcy was unable to help the grin that spread over her face. Without a word, she took the mug and went about getting herself a cup of coffee. She felt the eyes of both men trailing her as she moved around the kitchen, grabbing the creamer out of the fridge and plopping it into her coffee until it turned a medium brown. It was an odd thing, the weight of their attention on even such a simple task. She wondered if they had any idea just how heavy their presence was.

The metal spoon clinked softly against the ceramic mug as she stirred the cream in. Tapping it on the edge, Darcy wrapped both of her hands around the cup and turned to face Steve and Bucky at the same time she lifted it to her mouth for a sip. Peering over the edge of the mug at them, Steve caught her eye and nodded his head in invitation to the sofa beside him, his face open and hopeful.

She was glad he didn’t voice the offer as it put less pressure on her. Swallowing the hot liquid, Darcy licked her lower lip and shuffled forward.

Neither man seemed to breathe and if this were any other situation, it would be funny, almost, how they were hanging on the edge of a cliff over something so simple.

But she was just as nervous.

Very slowly, Bucky lifted his feet off the couch, twisting around in his seat, making room for her in the spot between him and Steve’s chair. If she didn’t move now, Darcy knew she would chicken out and she was tired, so fucking tired, of being alone with her dark, frightening thoughts.

Decision made, she padded over to the sofa, scooting by Bucky’s long legs, fully aware that her face was burning. She sat daintily, not fully leaning back against the cushion. Biting her lip, Darcy lifted her eyes and saw two things: the brief flash of surprise in Bucky’s face and the utter delight in Steve’s.

She blushed harder, staring down into her mug.

“How did the rest of training go?” The question was off her tongue before she knew it, but Steve gave her an encouraging smile.

“Long,” he closed the sketch book, placing it on the armrest.

Her leg jiggled and Steve’s eyes flicked down to it. Darcy forced it to be still. She swallowed. “Do you actually get tired from it?”

“It takes a while, but eventually, yeah, I get worn down just like anyone else.” Steve stared at her with something akin to mischief. Crinkles spread out like a fan around his eyes as his mouth quirked. “How long were watching?”

Darcy took a purposeful sip of her coffee.

“Long enough.”

“For?”

She slanted a look at Steve, a smile playing about her lips. “To see what I needed to see.”

A pause.

“And what was that, Darce?” Came the silky question and Darcy went still. Butterflies flitted about in her stomach. Steeling herself, she inhaled and turned to meet Bucky’s stare head on.

“Well now I know that you keep a knife in a hidden pocket on your right thigh.” Her eyes dropped to his legs and then flicked back up to his face.

Like ice cream melting on a hot summer day, Bucky’s face bled into a sultry smile at her playfulness. “Sorry for scaring you.”

“Just surprised me is all,” she tapped her nails against the handle of her mug and then turned to Steve. “If he’s sorry for that, then I’m sorry I distracted you.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve leaned back in his chair, eyes absolutely sparkling.

She scrunched her nose at him. “You seemed a little upset about it.”

“Mm. Buck just likes to get under my skin.”

“It’s a talent,” Bucky admitted ruefully. And then he added in a purposefully light tone, “It looked like you and Thor were havin’ quite the conversation up there this morning. Everything good?”

Blinking, Darcy turned to stare at him. He just held her gaze and she remembered, suddenly, the odd look on his face when she caught him watching her and Thor talk.

“Yeah,” she nodded. Bucky continued to stare and Darcy lifted her mug for another mouthful of coffee to give herself time to think. “We’re good. He and I just… We had to talk about something—something important.”

She knew he wanted to ask what that something was, could see the question swirling in his indigo eyes. Before he could open his mouth, Darcy scooted back into her seat, finally allowing herself to lean into the cushion. She remembered what Thor and Jane had told her, about ‘The Winter Soldier’ stopping them from being able to see her. Feeling protective, Darcy didn’t break the eye contact and she lifted both brows, silently daring him.

If he had something against Thor, Darcy was going to straighten that shit out _right now_.

“What else did you get up to today?” The question cut in and it took effort to tear her eyes away from Bucky to glance at Steve.

Picking her battles, Darcy set that one aside—for now. She sighed, allowing Steve to draw her back into niceties. 

“Not much,” she shrugged. “Bruce has me under strict orders to rest.”

“Good. No episodes?”

She just looked at him for a moment before flicking her eyes away. “No?” 

A small frown appeared on Steve’s face and Darcy’s mouth twisted as she thought back to the labs and the small tremors still rolling through her. She’d be an idiot to think that Steve hadn’t catalogued them the moment she had sat down. 

Darcy sighed, lifting one shoulder uncomfortably. “It was a minor one, but it’s fine.” When Steve shifted in his chair, Darcy reiterated. “I’m _fine_.”

“What happened?” Steve asked unhappily.

 _An infinity stone is destroying me from the inside out and I think I might be going crazy_ , she wanted to scream “I brought Jane some lunch in the labs, well, and Tony because FRIDAY told me he hadn’t eaten. When I was down there, I saw the stone—heard it,” is what she said instead.

There was a long moment of quiet and she could see, plain as day, how badly that disturbed the man before her. But it was Bucky who spoke up next, breaking the silence of the room and his own.

“What did it say?”

“My name,” Darcy said, softly. She stared down at her dwindling coffee in quiet thought. When she spoke again, her voice sounded very far away. “It called to me, asked me to come closer, to hold it.”

She downed the rest of her coffee in two big gulps, enjoying the way it burned, the way it dragged her out of that dangerous thought trail. Leaning forward, Darcy placed her cup on the low table and then leaned back and tucked her legs under her.

Glancing at Steve, Darcy winced, “Please don’t look at me like that. I eventually snapped out of it and left.”

Steve exhaled heavily. He turned his face away and raised his hand, thumb scratching at his eyebrow.

“Punk always was a worry wart,” Bucky murmured from the side and Darcy turned to look at him. He had pulled his hair back into another low bun and was offering her a gentle smile. “You get used to it eventually.” 

Darcy’s lips curved in response, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They fell quiet after that. Darcy’s eyes lowered to her hands, mostly hidden in the long sleeves she wore. She watched, quietly, as they shook and tried so very hard to keep her courage from doing the same. 

“You want another cup?”

Her head snapped up to find Bucky on his feet, gesturing at her empty mug. Her lips parted and she shook her head, “I can get it.”

“I’m already up,” he grabbed it before she could and grinned. “How do you take it?”

“Just plenty of cream. No sugar.”

“Sure thing,” the dark-haired man nodded easily and she caught the way his eyes flitted down to her hands and then back up. “You want a snack or somethin’?”

Her stomach rolled at the idea of food but then she remembered how she had been hungry earlier but never got to eat her own bagel because of the stupid fucking stone. Frowning, Darcy realized that she hadn’t eaten at all that day. She squinted up at Bucky, admitting quietly, “That probably would be a good idea. Thank you.”

Darcy watched as Bucky wandered into the kitchen and when his back was still to them, she slid her eyes to Steve. He was staring at his lap, his expression unreadable but definitely not happy.

“I’m okay, Steve,” Darcy leaned towards him and whispered quietly, for his ears only, “I promise.”

His eyes flashed up, bright blue, like they had been chipped out of a glacier. His throat worked and Steve tossed his sketchbook onto the table. 

“Come here, Darcy,” Steve requested, quietly. He opened his arms and Darcy eyed him, hesitating. “ _Please_.”

Worrying her lip, she carefully unfolded her legs and rose out of her seat. Steve reached for her and pulled her across his lap, thick, muscles arms wrapping around her like a steel trap. He tugged lightly until she leaned against his shoulder, her head tucked under his jaw. When he inhaled, his chest rose and Darcy moved with it, hearing the air cut its path into his lungs.

In the kitchen, Bucky was studiously keeping his back to them and Darcy almost grinned at that unexpected kindness from the otherwise brash man.

A warm, calloused hand slowly ran up and down her arm.

“I hate that you have to go through this,” Steve whispered suddenly—harshly. Like he could hold his anger at bay no longer. “I fucking _hate_ it. Everything about it.”

Darcy made a soft noise in the back of her throat and closed her eyes. She placed a palm flat against his chest, smiling sweetly when his heart thumped in response, like it was saying hello. 

“I would take it from you, if I could,” Steve spoke again, something heartbreakingly honest in his voice.

Darcy knew he would. Steve Rogers would take anything and everything—the entire world upon his own shoulders. She swallowed, “I know.”

“We’re going to find a way to fix this, I swear to you, Darcy, we will.”

Lifting her head from his chest, Steve met her searching gaze; the overhead light caught in his eyes making them look very bright. Darcy reached up to cup the side of his face, feeling the coarse whiskers scratching her palm. 

Steve’s hand lifted to wrap around her wrist and then he felt it, the tremor. 

He pulled her hand away from his face and looked at it and then at her, his voice very quiet. “You’re shaking, sweetheart. Did you eat today?”

“Well, I’m about to eat now,” Darcy tried with a small grin.

“ _Darcy_ ,” Steve’s jaw ticked, nostrils flaring.

“I was hungry earlier but the stone sort of made me lose my appetite,” Darcy explained in a soft tone, lowering her eyes to her lap. “I’m not doing this on purpose.”

Steve shifted her in his lap, his hand landing just above her knee and Darcy tried not to get too distracted by the fact that it was big enough to nearly wrap around her leg.

“I know,” he started and Darcy shook herself out of her thoughts, glancing up at him. “But please, just try to eat regularly?”

Nodding, movement to her right caught Darcy’s eye. She turned in surprise to see Bucky slowly approach with a tray nearly overflowing with snacks.

Steve snorted, murmuring more to himself than anyone else, “And he calls _me_ the worry wart.”

“Yeah, fuck you, punk,” Bucky shot him a look and then glanced at Darcy, almost nervously. “I didn’t know what you liked, so…”

He motioned to the tray now sitting on the table before her and Darcy kept a perfectly straight face for three whole seconds before she snickered.

“So, you brought the whole kitchen?”

Bucky plopped down onto the couch with a loud groan and both Darcy and Steve laughed quietly. Despite his dramatics, Bucky was smiling, too.

Carefully, Darcy climbed out of Steve’s lap, though from the look on the blond’s face, she knew he would have been more than happy for her to stay there for, quite possibly, the rest of the night. But Darcy wasn’t. Not yet. Not in front of Bucky. Her smile conveyed as much to Steve.

She did lean forward though and pick out a protein bar from the pile of food. It didn’t go past her notice that, aside from the coffee and the fruit, nearly everything on there was some form of a meal replacement. So, Bucky was an observant little shit.

Unwrapping it, Darcy curled back up in her corner of the sofa. Her eyes dropped to the forgotten novel Bucky had been reading when she first arrived. She could only see the back cover of it. Biting the protein bar, she chewed and pointed at it.

“What are you reading?”

Surprised, Bucky glanced at her and then the book. He shrugged, picking it up. “Somethin’ Banner said I might enjoy.”

Before she could ask what it was, Bucky turned it over for her to see the title.

“Ooh, _The Lord of the Rings_. Good choice, Bruce,” Darcy nodded as she swallowed another bite of the protein bar. “You’ll have to watch the movies after—extended editions only. I put my foot down on that. They’re the best and once you watch them, you can’t go back to that regular edited for TV shit. Each movie is, like, four hours long, but trust me, _completely_ worth it,” Darcy flapped her hand in the air. “Jane and I used to turn it into a whole weekend event. It’s fun.”

A beat of silence.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked eventually, his lips curving in a grin. He was staring at her, his eyes drinking her in, and, at first, Darcy didn’t understand why. Not until it hit her that this was not only the most she had ever said to the man but also the most animated she had ever been in his presence. 

Darcy just nodded in answer to his question and Bucky gave her a blinding smile.

“You’ll have to show me them sometime.”

Heat bloomed on her cheeks at the implication and for a second, she let herself imagine it—snuggling up on a sofa with Bucky for a marathon of her favorite films. Something flared in Darcy’s chest and she opened her mouth, but no words came out.

She blushed harder and Bucky’s eyes roamed over her, shining with humor. The smile he turned on her grew slowly on his lips and was absolutely wicked, “You turn any redder and I might need to know what you were thinking about just now.”

Darcy held Bucky’s gaze for as long as she could and then a shiver pushed through her and she dropped her eyes to the forgotten protein bar in her hand. Choosing to stuff her mouth with that to prevent an incident of word vomit, Darcy chewed vigorously and then chanced a look at Steve who had been utterly silent during the exchange.

Steve was staring right at her and the look in his eyes was heavy, silently burning her in a way that made Darcy shift in her seat and it wasn’t out of discomfort.

Inhaling deeply, Darcy grasped for her natural defenses to try and divert and distract, “You were drawing tonight?”

Steve’s face broke out into an understanding grin.

“Just something simple,” he murmured and then paused and his brows ticked up. “Do you want to see?”

A boyish hope lived in that question, shining through Steve’s voice. Partially shocked at the offer, Darcy just nodded, a smile playing about her lips. Steve reached for the sketchbook and flipped it open, skipping the first ten pages or so. Darcy watched and when he glanced at her, she quirked a brow in silent question.

“First couple of pages aren’t exactly… appropriate,” Steve explained, his cheeks pinking slightly.

Darcy’s second brow joined her first in racing to her hairline but she said nothing. To the side, Bucky began to snicker to himself, his gaze studiously on his own cup of black coffee as he tried to blow on the top of it before taking a drink.

Steve shot him an irritated look before huffing to himself and almost shyly offering Darcy his sketchbook. She took it with great care, keeping her gaze on Steve. The pages were thick and textured, perfect for holding the weight of the medium he chose.

The sofa suddenly dipped under an unexpected weight and Darcy’s body tilted to the side as Bucky scooted in close beside her to take a look himself. Scrambling for purchase, Darcy lowered the book and held onto the arm of the couch so she could sit up a little higher. Bucky winked at her and then darted his eyes back down to the sketch book she held. 

Darcy followed.

She had once read somewhere that art wasn’t supposed to be pretty, that it was supposed to make you feel something.

Looking down at the pictures that had come from Steve’s hands, she understood that. Something stirred deeply inside of Darcy, a well of emotion and perhaps one that wasn’t even her own, but it built the longer she looked at them.

The first picture was, unsurprisingly, of Bucky. But it was a Bucky Darcy had never met. His hair was short, and he wore an army hat that was tilted slightly to the side. The smile was almost the same. Bright and vibrant but without that tinge of sadness that she had never realized lived in Bucky until now. On the next page was the infamous Howlies, sitting around a wood fire, smoking and Darcy could almost hear the low chatter and dirty jokes they probably made. 

There were pictures of Brooklyn and the Avengers—Darcy laughed a little when she saw Thor frozen in the middle of some grand story he was telling. But most of what filled this book was Bucky.

Pictures of him in a mask, eyes glinting through darkened shadow; others of him sleeping with his lips slightly parted and his hair a tangled mess on a soft looking pillow. Darcy realized, then, that these were very private moments of their lives that Steve had drawn and it hit her, how much it meant that both of them were letting her see these. 

Next to her, Bucky had tilted his head close to hers, eyes locked on the sketchbook. Quietly, he urged her, “Go to the last page.”

She did and then she felt like the world was ripped out from under her feet.

There on that paper staring back at her with happy, squinting eyes and plump looking lips peeled open in mid-laugh was… her. 

“I drew that the night you brought Bucky back.”

Darcy’s head snapped up to find Steve staring right at her, his eyes soft with affection. Slowly, she looked back down to the picture. Next to it was another drawing, but it wasn’t finished. She could make out the clear shape of a female body standing behind a railing, gripping it with both hands.

The realization hit her—she knew _exactly_ what moment Steve was drawing now. She remembered the way he had stared at her that morning, like he was fucking ravenous.

“You’re really gifted, Steve,” Darcy said, her voice very low. "These are incredible. I mean that."

“He went to art school,” Bucky informed her, sounding so fucking proud.

“I took one class,” Steve rolled his eyes, shooting the other man a fond look. “And I only took it because you worked yourself sick on the docks to get the money so I could pay for it. Would’ve taken more if—”

“If you didn’t keep breaking your hands?” Bucky supplied, his voice a rumble in Darcy’s ear.

“What?” She asked turning to Bucky but when he stared down at her and she realized how close the two of them were, she whipped around to Steve. “How?”

The blond sent Bucky a harrowing look. “Ruin a moment, why don’t you, Buck?”

“Can it,” Bucky outright laughed. “You brought this on yourself. You see, Darce, the punk here liked to pick fights with pieces of shit that were about ten times his size. He never cared, never stopped or backed down. Just kept getting back up, bloodied to all hell. I think he broke his hands at least four times one winter.”

Darcy tried not to let her surprise show, especially when Steve had a cocky little grin on his mouth as he stared Bucky down. “Good thing I can heal now.”

She looked between the two of them, brows furrowing.

“Why did you fight so much?” 

“I don’t like bullies,” Steve told her simply. “I have strong ideas of what I believe is right and good and when I see people using privilege and power to hurt and oppress others… I don’t take it lightly.”

 _Clearly_.

“You haven’t changed a bit. You’re just bigger,” Bucky said over Darcy’s head in a fond tone. “I always preferred it when you came home covered in paint and charcoal than in bandages and blood though. Easier to clean up.”

“Have you ever thought about taking classes now?” Darcy asked, suddenly. When Steve just lifted his brows, she rushed out, “I mean, not right now, obviously, but since you came back?”

Steve was quiet for a long moment.

“Hadn’t thought of it, to be honest," he shook his head. "I needed a routine when I first got back. Everything was so different, _everyone_ was gone, I couldn’t handle much else that was… new. Not for a long time.” The smile Steve gave her then was tight and humorless and Darcy’s chest clenched at his words. Next to her, Bucky had gone very still. “Used to stay in SHIELD’s lower levels working myself until I nearly passed out. I would go to sleep, try not to scream too much when I had nightmares, and then woke up and did it all over again until Fury came to find me to help catch Loki.”

No one said anything after that, not for a long time. Somewhere in the room, a clock was ticking slowly. Eventually, Darcy reached for Steve’s hand, covering it with her own.

“You should look into it, Steve,” Bucky’s voice was gruff and low and he had to clear his throat. “When this is all over. ‘S’not like when we were kids. You’ve got the money now; you could get a studio like you always wanted. Or hell, just do it because it’s what you love.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded slowly, voice tight, flicking his eyes off to the side. “Maybe.”

“If it’s any motivation,” Darcy started and bit her lip, trying to bring a little light back into Steve’s haunted, distant eyes. “You could draw me like one your French girls.”

Oh, so slowly Steve’s eyes lifted from the ground to stare straight ahead and then he turned to Darcy. The look he gave her was a thousand times more potent than any liquor and Darcy’s body melted in a searing, steady burn. 

“I understood that reference,” Steve told her, his voice very low. His tongue peeked out, wetting his bottom lip. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll take you up on it, sweetheart.”

She shifted in her seat and bumped into Bucky’s thigh. Gasping, she jumped slightly, remembering he just over her shoulder. Bucky quietly apologized before inching back to give her some more space.

There was a bloom of white-hot need deep in the pit of her stomach and before it could full ignite, Darcy gulped in a mouthful of air. Tearing her gaze away from Steve’s dangerous invitation, Darcy turned once again to Bucky, grasping for something— _anything_.

“What about you?”

The dark-haired man gave her a lazy grin. “What about me, Sunshine?”

She rolled her eyes at the nickname. 

“I know about Steve’s art but what do you like to do? Besides making wisecracks.”

“Ah, you’ve got me all figured out,” Bucky clucked his tongue. He kept that easy smile on his face as he answered, “I don’t know what I like.”

Frowning, Darcy shook her head. “Well, you like reading?” Bucky nodded and so she offered, “Movies?” He paused for a long moment, clearly thinking, and then nodded again. “What about music—do you play an instrument?”

This time Bucky didn’t nod, didn’t… didn’t do anything. He just stared, that curve of his lips dropping a little. Darcy wracked her brain.

“Building things? Or what about mechanic work?” When she got much of the same response (which was no response), she started to get a little nervous. Bucky was just watching her, silently, that careful expression on his face and Darcy tilted her face up to the ceiling. She could feel it building, the panic that made her mouth do the stupid thing and then—“Um, you’d probably be crazy good at most sports and thus unfair to other players. However, that also means you could dominate. I always liked baseball, do you like baseball? What was the team in Brooklyn—the Dodgers? They’re in L.A. now. Bummer. Most people think it’s a boring sport but it’s nostalgic for me. Have you ever tried cooking? I’m okay at it, not the best, but I can feed myself and others without giving us all food poisoning. Oh god, wait, are you another science geek? If you are, that’s okay, I have plenty of experience in that—”

“It’s alright, Buck,” Steve cut her off suddenly and Darcy’s mouth snapped shut with a _click_. The blond was watching Bucky with an emotion that was packed with history and loyalty and dedication and goddamn _fight_. His voice was steady though, calm and easy. “You’ve got time to figure out what you like. No need to rush. You’re good.”

It was love, Darcy realized. That’s what Steve was looking at him with. 

She also got the distinct feeling that she had somehow fucked up—badly at that—and hadn’t even realized it.

Next to her, to her horror, gone was the easy (perhaps practiced) smile and now Bucky just looked… lost. It was a stark contrast to the confident, smooth-talking man on the roof. He stared blankly at the table and the pile of snacks he had picked out for her and her heart wrenched in her chest.

She should have fucking _known_ to stop asking the goddamn questions—especially with his history.

“I’m sorry, Bucky, I kind of overwhelm people sometimes,” she said, softly, biting her lip. “But Steve’s right. Take things slow. Right now, you know you like reading. So do I. And the book you are reading right now is one of the best stories ever told. We’re all still figuring ourselves out. That’s… well, I think that’s how life is supposed to work. The good news is, you have someone here who loves you a whole lot,” her throat tightened and she tried to not let her gaze flick to Steve, but to continue giving Bucky her complete attention. Darcy gently cleared her throat, “So, at least you won’t have to figure it all out alone.”

Bucky blinked slowly and she watched his shoulders lift as he inhaled. When the dark-haired man simply sat back on the sofa, seemingly more alert but still saying nothing, Darcy turned to Steve, worried. The blond gave her a grateful look, nodding encouragingly.

“S’rry,” Bucky mumbled, the word slightly slurred.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Buck.” Steve assured him right away and Darcy nodded quickly in agreement.

Bucky sniffed once and turned his head away from them.

“Darcy?” She whipped her gaze to Steve and he pointed at the table. “Will you hand me the book?”

He didn’t have to ask her twice. Struggling up off the sofa like a newborn calf, she picked up the thick novel and brought it over to Steve. He wrapped a hand around her wrist before she could turn away and tugged her down for a quick peck on the lips, as a way of saying thank you.

Pressing her lips together, she carefully settled back onto the sofa, watching Steve expectantly. He found Bucky’s bookmark and settled into his seat as he began to read aloud.

“ _He is one of the wandering folk—Rangers we call them. He seldom talks: not but what he can tell a rare tale when he has the mind. He disappears for a month, or a year, and then he pops up again. He was in and out pretty often last spring; but I haven’t seen him about lately. What his right name is I’ve never heard: but he’s known round here as Strider._ ”

Steve continued reading, his voice a low, comforting timbre that had Darcy soon passed out cold on the sofa.

* * *

Inhaling sharply, Darcy blearily sat up, flailing her arms a bit and squinting harshly at Steve. 

He hovered over her, grinning. “Come on, we’ll walk you back to your room. You’re going to get a crick in your neck if you sleep for too long like that.”

“I was sleeping?” Darcy yawned and rubbed at her eyes.

“Sure were, Sunshine,” came a quietly amused voice. “Drooling, too.”

Her eyes widened and Darcy wiped at her mouth and then it registered in her brain who it was that just spoke. Gasping, Darcy whirled around with a smile. Not wanting to make too big of a deal out of it, Darcy softened her excitement to a teasing, “Well, hello there, Sarge.”

Bucky’s eyes danced at the nickname. “You’re kinda adorable when you first wake up.”

“Even if I’m drooly?”

“Even then,” Bucky assured her and Darcy ducked her head, grinning before a second yawn attacked.

“Up you go,” Steve urged and Darcy was too tired to come up with some snarky reply, so she simply did as he asked and shakily got to her feet. When she realized the mess of snacks still on the table and her old coffee, Steve shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll clean it up. You, ma’am, need to get some shut-eye.”

“Ma’am?” Darcy cocked a brow and Steve swatted her lightly on the butt.

Darcy yelped, both of her hands flying to her stinging cheek, her eyes perfect circles of shock. She… did not know what to do with this playful side of him or with the fact that he slapped her ass so openly in front of Bucky. So, she merely hissed out, “ _Steve_.”

“Yes?” He asked innocently—infuriatingly.

A response built on her tongue, but it died at the sound of Bucky’s cackle. Darcy’s gaze flew to the brunette, unsure, but he was watching them in clear amusement. 

“Careful, Stevie,” Bucky warned lightly. “She knows where I keep one of my knives. Oh, and Darce, honey? Don’t buy that innocent look of his for a goddamn second. He wields that shit like a fuckin’ pro.”

Her gaze slid to Steve and it was true, he was giving her the best ‘ _who, me?_ ’ look she had ever seen. If this wasn’t the man that had made her beg for him to finger fuck her up on the roof a while back, she might have fallen for it.

“I’m watching you, Muscles,” Darcy used two fingers to point to her eyes and then back at him.

“Noted,” Steve smirked.

The three of them walked back to Darcy’s room. She had argued with Steve briefly about it being old fashioned, to which he claimed that she was going to have to get used to it because there was no way in hell he was letting his girl walk back to her room alone. Partially because his mother taught him how to treat a lady but also because Bucky would kick his ass. To which the brunette agreed—loudly.

It would be a lie for Darcy to say that she didn’t enjoy the attention.

Well, sort of.

She tried not to focus too much on the heavy presence of both men on her heels as she walked to her room in the middle of the night. By the time they reached her door, her heart was sprinting.

Turning around suddenly, Darcy caught Bucky staring appreciatively at her ass. When his gaze skimmed up to her face, he brazenly grinned, shrugging, “Steve got to spank it, so I figured I might as well inspect it for myself.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re gonna be trouble,” Darcy chuckled, albeit a little nervously.

“Only the fun kind,” Bucky promised and her pulse jumped in her throat.

“Well,” Darcy started and then glanced back at her door. A thought flitted through her mind, “Steve?” 

The blond in question lifted his brows in response. 

“You told me to come to you if I have questions—about us?” He started slightly but then nodded, keeping his expression open. Darcy kept her eyes on Steve and Steve alone because he was easier, she knew, at least a little bit, what to expect from him. Still, easier didn’t mean _easy_. Darcy swallowed, “I have a few but I don’t want to ask them tonight—not because I’m avoiding it, but it’s late.”

Steve nodded, slowly. He wet his lips, inhaling, “How about tomorrow morning we come get you for breakfast? I’ll make us something.”

Darcy searched his face with narrowed eyes.

“Is this your way of making sure I eat something or because you want to talk?”

“Yes,” Steve answered simply.

A laugh punched its way out of her chest. “Smooth.” She told Steve and then took a step backwards until she felt the door at her back. Reaching behind her, she kept her eyes on the both of them and felt blindly for the doorknob. Planning to make a swift escape, Darcy grinned wildly and saluted them with one hand, “Thanks for tonight, boys, _and_ for the show this morning. It was—”

Steve was kissing her before she could even register that he had moved. She felt his hands smooth up her back and tangle in her hair. With a moan she couldn’t hold back, Darcy melted and pressed herself against the hard, defined lines of his body. Her palms came up to rest on his smooth chest as she parted her lips for him to deepen the kiss like they had been doing this all their lives.

Then it hit her like a sledgehammer. 

_Holy fucking shit, Darcy. What are you doing? Bucky is right there. Watching._

She went still, or tried to, because god, Steve kissed in such a way that _demanded_ a response from her. Heat simmered to a low boil in her core and Darcy finally pulled away with a whimper that she might have found embarrassing if it weren’t for the dizzying effect of Steve’s mouth.

Eyelashes fluttering as she opened her eyes, Darcy panted, resting her forehead against Steve’s firm chest. When she got the courage to sneak a peek at Bucky, she found him casually leaning against the wall. Eyes locked on hers, his lips parted and the tip of his tongue peaked out to trace his full lower lip with sensuous slowness.

“Well,” Bucky mused, the word barely a breath in the back of his throat. He held Darcy hostage with his smoldering gaze. “I think I just got the best show of the day.”

Steve hummed low in his throat, his fingers leaving a trail of fire up and down her back.

 _Mayday, mayday, mayday! FUCKING MAYDAY, WOMAN!_

Eyes rounded, world spinning, Darcy came back to herself. Blushing furiously, her chest heaving, she turned and fled for her room, barely squeaking out a, “ _Goodnight!_ ”

It was only once she was tucked into bed, giggling like a teenage girl, that Darcy realized her hands were no longer shaking.

* * *

The walk back to their room was calm and cool as can be. They ambled their way down the hall, smiling light and easy, quietly joking with one another.

The second they were inside and the door closed, Bucky whirled on Steve, shoving him hard against the wall. The blond let himself hit it with a solid _thud_.

He gave Bucky his most innocent, perplexed look—one practiced to goddamn perfection.

“Oh, you little _shit_ ,” Bucky sneered with a pointed finger. “I know what the fuck you were doing.” The brunette fisted the material of Steve’s shirt and yanked him closer for an almost violent kiss. It was all tongue and teeth, as if he were trying to get a taste for himself, and then Bucky shoved him back into the wall again with a frustrated groan.

Steve was grinning wildly, panting and licking his bottom lip with a sensual swipe of his tongue. Bucky’s eyes followed the movement and then they narrowed. Basking in it all, Steve tilted his head back and lifted both brows.

“You look a little worked up,” Steve told him in fake concern, and Bucky leveled him with a withering glare to which the blond only snickered. “Was watching hard for you? Poor thing. Maybe I’ll make you watch the first time we get Darcy in our bed. Just to make it fun.”

“You fuckin’ punk,” Bucky breathed out in an almost laugh. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up the way that Steve wanted to mess it up. Shaking his head, Bucky bit his lip hard enough that the skin whitened around his teeth. “I swear to fucking god.”

Steve felt his cock stiffen at the gravelly tone in Bucky’s voice and his grin became downright wicked. “ _Ooh_ , Buck, the mouth you have on you. I think I’ll put it to work tonight. But first…” 

Pushing off the wall suddenly, Steve grabbed his waist, spinning them until they switched places. 

His hand reached up, fingers digging into Bucky’s jaw, pressing into the skin until the brunette’s lips puckered. And then Steve leaned in and kissed him, slowly, thoroughly, a feathery soft caress in contrast to the grip he had on the man. His tongue flicked out and Bucky’s mouth opened immediately. Hands were in his hair and Steve didn’t break the kiss as he reached up and took hold of both of Bucky’s wrists, pressing them against the wall next to Bucky’s head. Steve nudged his knee between Bucky’s legs and then pulled back from the kiss with a light, teasing nip.

Bucky looked half gone already, his eyes at half-mast. The blond drank in the sight and rolled his hips hard against Bucky’s, his cock aching.

“Didn’t you tell me this morning after our spar that you wanted to be tired—wiped out?” 

Inhaling sharply, Bucky’s nostrils flared as he became instantly more awake. Smirking, Steve swept his thumbs over Bucky’s wrists where he had them pinned, feeling his rapid pulse answer. Humming low in his throat, Steve rubbed his thigh against Bucky’s deliciously hard length. Bucky groaned, loudly, and Steve’s cock throbbed at the sound.

Leaning forward until his lips were at Bucky’s ear, Steve whispered sweetly, “Then let’s see what we can do about that.”

Bucky hissed as the blond tugged his earlobe between his teeth. Steve eventually stepped back and swept his eyes over his lover. He kept his eyes on him as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans. Quickly, Bucky moved to do the same, shucking his pants and boxers off much faster than Steve. His cock sprang free, bouncing like a spring doorstop and Steve would be lying if his mouth didn’t water at the goddamn sight of it. Bucky always did have such a pretty cock.

Taking his time, Steve watched his lover as he dragged his own zipper down and then stopped. He left his jeans on, undone and hanging open, giving his cock a small amount of release from the pressure. 

Bucky’s eyes snapped to his and took a step forward, his intention clear, but Steve shook his head and merely clucked his tongue. The dark-haired man paused with a smirk, lifting one brow. “Oh, you wanna play tonight, Stevie?”

“Turn around and keep your hands on the wall, Barnes,” Steve commanded in a voice like silk. His eyes burned as he added, “And spread your fucking legs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahahaha…. hi. 
> 
> Look at our OT3 having an actual conversation together, their first one! BREAK OUT THE DRINKS.
> 
> Also, the LOTR quote Steve reads obviously belongs 100% to Tolkein. It was straight out of The Fellowship of the Ring <3
> 
> Don’t forget to say hello on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/), friends.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins...

Above the entrance to the shop, a small silver bell jingled noisily. 

The glass door swung open following a well-worn half circle path on the dirty, cracked tile. A wall of humid summer air plowed inside carrying the scent of a coming rain only to be quickly blown away by the small portable fan humming next to the old register. 

Muscles tensing, Ray turned away from the nightly news to take in the new customer with no small amount of suspicion. But one look at the tall, lanky, teen slinking in with his hood up and earphones in and Ray relaxed, nodding his chin at him. The kid merely lifted a hand in greeting and wasted no time in heading for the dairy products in the back. Ray silently watched him go. Marshall was a good kid, one Ray never had to worry about swiping candy and shit—not like those other little assholes who bombarded his corner shop on their way home from school. 

_Gallo’s Family Grocer_ had been on this corner in the Bronx since the mid-eighties. It was a small place but well stocked and reliably open on almost every holiday. But Raymond Gallo would be the first to admit that his place hadn’t aged well and ever since his wife died in ninety-seven, it had only gotten dingier and dingier. Frankly, he didn’t give a damn. He had long ago become a staple in this neighborhood. It didn’t matter how shitty the place looked, people still gave him their business. Even the little teenage shits.

Except there weren’t that many of them left and if there were, they didn’t roam the streets like they once had.

Ray never thought there would be a day when he missed them, but here he was feeling the aching loss like some sentimental fool. 

_Christ, you’re gettin’ soft in your old age_ , he scoffed to himself and sighed, scratching absently at his chest. The short wooden stool groaned as he shifted his large body on it, turning back to the television hanging from his ceiling when the lead anchor for the nightly news returned.

“ _Times are dark. Many of us find ourselves searching for hope. People everywhere are flocking in masses to cathedrals, synagogues, and mosques for answers and yet the one question that is on the mind of every American and certainly every New Yorker is this:_ where _are the Avengers?_ ” 

Ray grunted in bitter agreement. The news anchor, Carlos Jiminez, some big time six o’clock star with slick backed curls, stared straight into the camera. He paused for a moment, expression hard, conveying exactly what Ray and many others felt in two words: _fed up_.

It had been thirty-three days after all. 

Thirty-three days since the world stopped. 

It didn’t end, it just… stopped. New York had been scrambling to pull itself together, but it was no secret that they were struggling. The stench of rotting garbage marinated the cities, piles of it gathered on sidewalks and alleyways where rats and stray cats and dogs openly feasted. Cars still sat abandoned in the roads, their doors thrown open, seats empty and covered in a thick layer of human ash. Crumpled missing posters were plastered on any available surface by those who had yet to accept that their loved ones were well and truly gone. 

For the most part, people hid away in their homes, boarding up their windows, terrified to leave while others, like himself, did the only thing they knew how: soldiered on. But whether they were hiding or trying to pick up the pieces of their fractured new reality, one thing was true: people were angry. And their rage had turned the air raw and full of welts. 

New York was a tinderbox on the verge of exploding.

“ _Where have they gone? Why did they abandoned us when we needed them most? To provide an inside look into the last known sighting of ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’,_ ” Carlos broke his professional tone as he openly sneered at the title. “ _Let’s hear from our affiliate, Alicia Reed, who was on the ground in the Bronx earlier today._ ”

The camera cut to a young, attractive woman standing in front of a familiar brick building. She was clean cut and professional with her perfect teeth and her pressed business suit.

Ray, however, choked on his own spit when he caught a glimpse of who was next to her.

“Fuck me sideways— _yo, Marshall!_ ” Ray stood, planting both hands on the yellowed counter, bellowing into the mostly empty shop. When the kid didn’t reply, he shouted louder, “Marshall, take your fuckin’ earphones out and c’mere!”

“ _Three weeks ago, the Avengers had an altercation in Central Park,_ ” Ray heard the woman’s voice and turned back to the television in shock. “ _We were able to identify two of the members of the Avengers present that day, fugitives Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff, while the rest remain unknown. Next to me I have an incredibly courageous young man, Marshall Doss, who witnessed the event. Marshall, tell us what you experienced_.”

Behind Ray, Marshall cautiously emerged out of the aisle with a quart of milk, two boxes of pasta, and a stick of butter. Ray whipped his head to the teen and then back to the television. He snagged the remote beside the register and turned the volume up to an almost deafening level.

On the television, the teen stood, trying not to fidget as he stared down at the microphone the woman held in front of him. He scratched the side of his head and kept his eyes lowered. “ _Yeah, uh, it’s hard to explain. I was at a friend’s house and was about to go home. But then these… these aliens broke into the house and took me and my friend. We were taken—_ ”

“ _By these invaders?_ ”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Marshall nodded. His brows pulled together, some disturbing memory flashing through his face. “ _They grabbed us and beat us around a bit. Dragged us all the way out to Central Park with a bunch of other people. Everyone was screaming, yelling, some tried to fight back. It didn’t end well for those ones. They put us in this pit and left us there overnight. It was… it was raining. Mud was everywhere and there—there were little kids. Some of them only five years old_.”

“Shit,” Ray breathed, tearing his eyes away from the television to look at the teen.

Marshall stood on the other side of the counter, distinctly uncomfortable. But he was watching the interview, bottom lip tugged into his mouth. One earbud was dangling from his hoodie.

“ _And what happened in the morning?_ ” The woman prompted, turning the microphone back to the teen.

On the screen, Marshall shook his head, shrugging. “ _We couldn’t see much because we were in the pit, but we heard the big dude—Thanos—talking to someone. They sounded angry and then some lady shouted for him to let us go. He wouldn’t and there was a fight. I thought we were all gonna die and then outta nowhere, Captain America showed up. He was standing over the pit and he—he looked different, real different from the history books. Different than I expected, but it was him. He was trying to get us out but there was this huge explosion. I dunno where it came from or what happened, but the next thing I knew, both he and the Black Widow were back and helping us all climb out of the pit. When we got out, the aliens were gone, and they told us we could leave._ ”

“ _Did you speak to any of them—to the Avengers?_ ”

“ _Not really. I was just worried about my mom at home. After you experience somethin’ like that, you… you just wanna go home._ ”

The woman nodded in something akin to compassion. “ _Of course. Thank you,_ ” she then turned to face the camera. “ _A stunning firsthand account._ ”

The camera cut back to the main station, but Ray muted the television and slowly turned to face the teen. For a long time, neither of them said a word. Then—

“You were really there?”

Marshall just nodded, his mouth firmly shut.

“Shit, kid. I had no idea.” Ray told him, flabbergasted. Then in a flash of anger, he shook his head, brows furrowing, “And they didn’t say _anything?_ Even after all that, they just vanished. Why the fuck are they abandoning us?”

“They’re not,” Marshall bit out and Ray’s brows lifted in response. The teen’s jaw ticked. “I mean, what do you expect them to do? We’ve already made them enemies of the state and now Thanos has them by the balls. They need to regroup, come up with a plan, and when they do, they’ll be back. You just wait and see.”

Ray’s eyes dropped down to the iconic red, white, and blue shield on the front of the hoodie the kid proudly wore. It was a bold thing to wear these days considering public opinion. The shop owner’s eyes snapped up. “What makes you so sure?”

Silence. 

And then Marshall lifted his head slowly and looked at Ray, really looked at him, and in his eyes, the shop owner caught a glimpse of something that had long since died in himself. It was so foreign, he almost didn’t recognize it at first, and then it dawned on him.

It was hope. 

A living, breathing hope that burned so bright, it almost hurt to look at and Ray felt something deep inside of him start to crack.

“Because that’s what heroes do,” Marshall said at last, his voice quiet and honest. “We don’t deserve to be saved, not really, not after how we’ve treated them, but they’ll do it anyway. Even if the whole world hates them, they’ll still be fighting for us. And maybe the rest of New York has forgotten that they saved our asses before, but I haven’t. They’ll be back for us. I know it.”

For a long time, the only sound was the electric hum of the fan, slowly swinging back and forth. 

Born in the Bronx to a poor, single mother, Marshall had everything working against him. Before the invaders, the world had been a hard place, a cruel place, and now it was multiplied beyond imagining. Ray had no fucking idea how this kid found a way to hold on to something better, but he did. It made some distant part of Ray ache for the same.

Clearing his throat, he managed to huff out, “Watch your fuckin’ language, kid.” 

Marshall gave him a very flat look.

Ignoring it, Ray glanced down at the impenetrable shield on Marshall’s hoodie once more and found it difficult to stare at for too long. Felt like it began to stare back at him. Flicking his eyes away, he took in the meager food Marshall had laid out on the counter and his chest tightened. 

Slowly, Ray began to ring up the items. “You and your mama doin’ okay?”

“We’re good,” Marshall nodded, eyes tracking the total on the register. He shifted on his feet.

Ray noted the movement and pulled out a yellow plastic bag, placing the milk, pasta, and butter in it. Seeing the total, Marshall dug his hand into his pocket to pull out a wadded up ten-dollar bill.

Ray lifted a meaty hand and waved him away. “No, keep that.”

Marshall’s head snapped up, eyes rounded. 

“Mr. Gallo—”

“No, kid,” Ray assured him, holding out the plastic bag with a meaningful look. “This is on the house.”

The teen’s brows pulled together. “Why?”

Hesitating, Ray thought about it, searching for the words in the silence. When he spoke, his voice was gruff. “Because maybe you’re right and I’m an asshole whose had their head in the sand… I want to remember what it's like to believe in something.”

Marshall looked like he didn’t quite know how to respond, but he nodded anyway, slowly, almost unsure. “Thank you, Mr. Gallo.”

“No problem, kid.”

Ray watched him make his way to the door, bag swinging from his hand. Outside, the light was dwindling; night was coming. He frowned, an odd itch in the center of his chest, the kind that hadn’t been there in a long, long time.

It felt almost like he cared.

“Be safe getting home, kid,” Ray called out before he could stop himself. “Don’t go worrying your mama.”

Turning around, the bell jingled softly above the door as the teen pushed it open, walking backwards. The shield sitting in the center of his black hoodie almost seemed to glow in the dying light. 

Marshall smiled softly; his dark eyes bright. “I will, Mr. Gallo. Have a goo—”

It took less than a second. 

Less than a second for the door to fly off its hinges, glass shattering, as a creature straight from the pit of hell slammed into it like a tank. 

With a terrible growl it opened its jaws revealing rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth. Teeth that latched onto Marshall’s smiling, hopeful face, ripping the skin from his skull in a sickening spray of blood. 

And all Ray could do was stand there behind the counter mouth agape in silent, frozen horror.

His mind screamed at him, beat against the walls of his brain, but Ray’s body was unable to move as the rabid creature went into a frenzy at the taste of blood and tore through Marshall’s limp body like wet paper. It pulled his limbs from their sockets, flinging legs and arms in the air before slammed a hole straight through his chest, cracking open his ribcage like a can opener. 

A pack of a dozen more creatures just like it ran by the front of the store, their feet pounding on the pavement like horses on a dirt track, tangled snarls and howls following their wake.

Somewhere in the distance, a woman was shrieking, the kind of panicked sound that someone made when they knew they were going to die. And then she stopped, a sudden silence, an end.

Two dozen more swarmed by. 

Five dozen. 

And then it was a horde too great to count.

With an uncontrollable shout, like a dam burst inside of him, Ray finally broke free from the shock and white-hot panic flooded him. He fell backwards, crashing into the cigarette and lotto scratch card displays behind the counter. Small, white packages of smokes tumbled over him like an avalanche. Clumsily, he reached for the loaded twelve-gauge shotgun he kept under the counter. Slick, hot blood coated his hands, his arms, his face, and Ray knew who it belonged to.

His stomach turned violently.

His eyes burned. The safety switch became blurry and Ray swiped a hand over his eyes, brushing away the tears gathering. It took him three attempts to finally get the safety turned off on the shotgun, the whole time a keening sound wheezed through his bared teeth and heavy, humid air rushed in and out of his lungs like a racehorse. Flecks of spit marred the smooth metal barrel; he pumped with a quick snap to load the chamber.

Pressing his back hard against the wall, Ray stayed crouched on the ground, shotgun in a white-knuckle grip, his eyes locked on the entrance of his store, waiting. Blood rushed in his ears, along his temple a single drop of sweat slid down over his cheek, gathering at his jaw. It dripped onto his thigh with a soft splash.

Then, to his right, a shadow appeared; his stomach turned cold.

Ray’s breath left his parted lips in a tremor. Slowly he turned his head to look at the monster hovering above him. Its shoulders rose and fell as it breathed. Long, stringy lines of saliva slid out between four-inch bloody canines. Its mottled skin looked like it had been burned long ago; it had no eyes, but it saw him, nonetheless.

Two heartbeats passed. 

They both waited.

A deep growl began to coil it its belly and not two, but _four_ arms lifted away from its body, poising to leap. 

Ray snapped. 

Moving faster than he had in years, he spun and lifted the shotgun up to his shoulder, pulling the trigger. It kicked back, a single, solid slam, knocking his shoulders into the metal mesh wrack that held the lottery tickets. They fell from above like rain, fluttering to the ground as skull fragments and blood splattered across his shop.

He had blown the fucker’s head off. 

Shoving his hand over his face to wipe away the mess, Ray spit, gagging at the taste of the foreign blood and then went to reload. 

He didn’t have time to wait for heroes. He didn’t have time to wait to be rescued. Outside the sun had sank beyond the horizon; darkness flooded the streets and with it came the endless wails of terror, like the soundtrack of a horror film. 

By morning, the city would be bathed in blood.

* * *

“They have one purpose,” the female’s golden eyes gleamed with a strange kind of hunger as she watched the carnage on the screen. “To find the stone and to destroy anyone or anything in their path. They will not stop; they will not falter. They will slaughter the humans in droves and they will enjoy it.”

Thanos smiled.

The Titan turned to walk away, rolling his neck and flexing the hand that bore the gauntlet. The stones pulled at him, stronger than before, as though they knew they were missing a vital piece—a sibling—and were so close to having it returned. They pressed at him to find it day and night, to bring it _back_.

“My Lord.”

Thanos stopped but he did not turn around. Soft steps approached from behind.

“What of the stonekeeper?” Proxima Midnight asked and Thanos went still.

_Yes, what of the stonekeeper?_

Given the two large energy spikes, it was clear that the Avengers had found something invaluable, something he had not anticipated, something inexplicably rare. That alone set the Titan’s stomach to rot.

“After I retrieve the Soul Stone, I will hunt this human down myself and put an end to it.”

* * *

A towering green cliff stood alone against the gathering dark. Below, the ancient sea raged. Black rolling waves beat against the rockface in a spray of fury and on the horizon, the light grew dim. As it fell, the sun pierced through the gray cloud wrack in one last burst of strength. Rays of watery light stretched out to touch the earth.

One golden finger landed on a lone figure as he stood upon the cliff’s edge.

Wind rushed past him in swirling gusts, biting at his skin, pulling strands of his blond hair out of his braids to flutter in the breeze. 

The God of Thunder gazed out over the endless ocean—waiting. 

He knew this place. 

Above, a raven circled, its blue-black feathers reflecting the dying light. Thor Odinson lifted his face to the sky, and from the raven’s beak, a voice cried out like the clear ringing of a silver trumpet.

_Whosoever holds this hammer—_

Thor’s eyes snapped open as he jerked out of sleep. Gasping for air, he pushed himself to sit up, the blanket sliding to his bare waist as his chest heaved.

“Thor?” Jane’s soft voice called out, sleep lacing the edge of his name. Sheets rustled and a gentle hand pressed against his shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

His eyes slid shut and he saw the cliff even in these waking moments. Shaken, Thor wet his chapped lips, croaking, “’Twas a dream.”

The mattress shifted and a chin hooked over his shoulder. Jane pressed herself against his wide back, wrapping her arms around his middle, planting her palms flat against his chest. Thor leaned back into the embrace, the strength she offered.

“Tell me about it,” Jane whispered.

When he hesitated, warm lips pressed encouragingly against his shoulder.

“I dreamed of a green cliff over raging waters. It is a place I am familiar with, the place where my father left this world to enter into Valhalla.” The god’s voice was distant, like part of him was still back on that cliff, waiting—for what, he did not know. Running a hand over his face, Thor shook his head. He frowned. “I feel as though it is telling me something.”

Behind him, Jane tensed. The god twisted around to look at her in the gray dawn light. Her dark brows were pulled low, her face pale.

“Jane?” 

She didn’t lift her gaze from where it had fallen to the bed. Then—

“Was there a raven?” She asked and Thor went very still. Jane’s eyes darted up. She asked again, more urgent, “In your dream, was there a raven?”

A beat of stunned silence.

“Yes. How did you—”

“ _’Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.’_ ” Jane whispered in the quiet of their room and Thor’s breath left him entirely. Amber eyes flashed to his, burning and so very alive. “That’s what the raven was crying out,” she gasped. “I had the same dream. I had it before, the first night Darcy brought me back from the Soul Stone. It’s why I was awake so early that morning. I dreamed it again—just now. I had thought it was nothing, but…”

The God of Thunder stared at her for the longest time and then he threw back the blankets, hitting them both with a blast of cool air. Jane hissed and scrambled for cover. Grabbing a pair of discarded jeans, Thor yanked them on. As he buttoned them, he glanced at Jane. She watched him with concern, brows lifting in the middle, clutching the white sheet to her otherwise bare chest. Despite the urgency he felt, Thor allowed himself a moment to appreciate the way her honeyed hair was mussed from his hands the night before, the smooth skin he had worshipped until she cried herself hoarse.

Tearing his gaze from her, the god moved to the dresser, pulling out a shirt for himself. Thor cleared his throat.

“Come, we must dress quickly.” 

Jane scooted to the edge of the bed, still covering herself precariously. “Where are we going?”

Thor pulled open another dresser drawer and dug around until he found clothes that would suit Jane. Glancing over his shoulder, he answered gravely.

“To see my brother.”

* * *

In her twenty-six years of life, one of the greatest lessons Darcy had ever learned was this: _when in doubt, wear the fucking lingerie._

Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. She _loved_ lingerie, so much so that Jane once told her she had a problem (apparently normal people didn’t have an entire drawer… or two dedicated to color coordinated thongs and bras). However, when she had fled her townhouse in Boston, Darcy had grabbed clothes at random, not giving two shits as to what she brought with her. And, of course, because of that, she managed to somehow leave all her matching sets behind.

Which led to her current predicament. 

Fresh out of the shower, wet hair twisted up in a fluffy towel, naked as the day she was born, Darcy pursed her lips, staring down at the mismatched options laid out on her bed. She had narrowed it down to the pretty lavender bra with the pink gems and a white lace thong or the black bra with the red silk strappy thong. 

Today was an important day—an important morning and conversation ahead—and she was nervous as hell. It didn’t matter that no one would be seeing the sexy underwear but her, it was all about feeling confident and right now, she needed the boost.

Narrowing her eyes, Darcy folded her arms and tapped a finger on her bottom lip. Power set or Pretty set. Power or Pretty. Power or Pretty. Pow—

_Tap, tap, tap._

Darcy jumped, inhaling sharply through her nose, and then froze. Straining her ears, she twisted around and listened. Silence answered and her brows pinched. Then came a soft but very _male_ —

“Darcy?”

She blinked owlishly, “Uh, yeah?”

There was a long pause.

“We’re here with breakfast,” Steve’s answer finally floated under her door and it took a few seconds for his words to register in her brain.

_We’re here._

‘We’re’ meaning him and Bucky. They were here. And she was _naked_ and her hair was in a towel and she had no make-up on and hadn’t even picked out an outfit and—

“ _Steve! Oh, my god,_ _why!_ ” Darcy shrieked, scrambling for the red thong. In her panicked rush to get it on, the thin straps got caught between two of her toes and she cursed violently, hopping on one foot as she untangled it before sliding one leg in and then the other. “We never discussed a time!”

“I’m…” Steve started, his voice muffled, and she could have sworn the asshole was laughing, “sorry?”

“The hell you are—a little warning would have been great!”

There was a low chuckle now, but it wasn’t Steve. _Oh no_ , this belonged to one James Buchanan Barnes. 

That bastard didn’t even bother to hide his amusement as he drawled out, “What’s wrong, Darce, you naked or somethin’?”

Her jaw dropped and she was so glad he couldn’t see her outrage. Snatching up the black bra with vehemence, Darcy glared fiery daggers at the door as she flipped it around and worked on all the tiny hooks ( _why are there so many goddamn tiny hooks?!_ ). Wrenching her arm through the black strap, Darcy yelped when it snapped against her skin.

“She’s definitely naked,” Bucky murmured and what followed next was something like the sound of a certain dark-haired super soldier being shoved into the wall.

Now it was Darcy’s turn to cackle.

“Serves you right, Barnes!” She cried, vindicated.

“She’s never called me that before,” Bucky told Steve (though it didn’t go past her notice that he was using a voice clearly loud enough for her to hear). “Should I be scared?”

Grinning, Darcy bent over and shook the towel from her head. She raked through her hair with her fingers, wincing as they snagged on tangled curls, and then grabbed the robe that she had found in the bathroom. It was a little too big, reaching down to her ankles. Darcy wrapped it as tightly around her as possible and tied it off in a firm knot before marching to the door.

She probably looked like shit, but if they were going to invade without warning, then they had to pay the price. Darcy threw open the door with the fury of a fire breathing dragon.

“For the record, Bucky, _I’m_ not the one you should be afraid of. Jane is and she’s already declared that you’re on her shit list. If I were you, I’d start sucking up to me real fast and maybe, _just maybe_ , if I’m feeling gracious, I’ll put in a good word on your behalf.”

A pause.

“Good morning to you, too, Sunshine,” Bucky snorted with an amused grin. “And you _are_ a ray of sunshine this morning.”

Her eyes narrowed into thin slits. “I am not amused.”

“Would coffee help?”

Darcy opened her mouth for a stinging retort and then stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes slid away from Bucky to Steve and then down to the rolling tray table between them packed with covered dishes. Her gaze flicked back up to Steve who was staring down at her with an almost bashful little smile. 

“Room service?” Darcy asked, cocking her head to the side, unable to stop the small curve of her mouth. 

“Thought it might be nice,” Steve told her, grabbing at the back of his neck. Darcy admired the way the muscles in his arm stretched pleasantly. He looked down at the tray and then he hit her with one hell of a devastating look from under his lashes, adding ruefully, “And I was impatient.”

Darcy’s smile grew at his confession, something in her giving way. She crossed her arms and propped her hip against the doorframe and openly gave the blond a once over from his head to his toes. He was in a simple white t-shirt with fitted jeans and yet somehow managed to look for all the world like he had just stepped off a fucking runway. 

It wasn’t fair.

And don’t even get her _started_ on Bucky and his Johnny Cash wannabe all-black attire (it was a good look, goddamnit).

“You’re setting the bar pretty high for yourself with this, Muscles,” Darcy clucked her tongue and slowly shook her head. “A girl might get spoiled.”

Steve’s eyes danced. “Oh, _sweetheart_ ,” he murmured slowly, the endearment dripping from his lips. “This is me going easy on you.”

Her heart thumped hard in her chest.

“What do you mean?” Darcy asked. When Steve answered only with a smile, she turned to the dark-haired man. “What does he mean?”

“Why ruin the intrigue,” Bucky teased her, waggling his eyebrows.

Her cheeks warmed and she was hit with a sudden flutter of nervousness. Sucking on her teeth, Darcy flicked her eyes back to the tray. 

“If I’d have known though, maybe I could have gotten ready,” she admitted in a softer tone, highly aware of how good both of them looked while she stood there with hair resembling a wet cat in nothing but an oversized robe. Frowning, she glanced back into her room and grimaced, “Or cleaned up a little.”

“I think you look beautiful,” Steve told her gently. There was something very honest in his voice. “And I don’t give a damn about any mess. We’re here for you.”

Ducking her head, she tried very unsuccessfully to hide her small, close-lipped smile. And then she hummed in the back of her throat and stepped aside. “Mm, well for that, you can come in.”

As he took her up on the offer and carefully rolled the tray into her room, Darcy felt Steve’s gaze in her whole body. It was a tingling sensation, very much like adrenaline. Her eyes trailed after his form, drawn to him like a magnet. Her heart marched up her throat as a thousand tiny birds were set lose from their cage, wings fluttering around in her belly.

Then—

“And what about me?” asked a voice like melting dark chocolate.

Tearing her eyes away from where they had dropped to Steve’s impressive ass, Darcy whipped around to Bucky. Wetting her lips, she considered teasing him and continuing their battle but then, unbidden, her mind flashed from this almost irritatingly confident man before her to the lost, wounded one that has shown his face last night. 

Any and all jokes slipped out of her grasp.

The edge of Darcy’s snark softened into something more like a shy, welcoming smile.

“Of course,” she told him quietly. “Come in.”

For a moment, Bucky just looked at her. He searched her face, like he wasn’t sure what brought on the sudden change. He must have been prepared for a jab and the unsurety at her welcome hurt—just a little. After what felt like a very long time, Bucky gave her a strange, unreadable smile-not-smile and brushed past her into her room.

As he entered, Darcy stared hard at the ground and swallowed. Nerves flared to life, like a match being dropped into a pool of gasoline, as it hit her that both men were now in the privacy of her room and they were about to talk about this—for real. She sucked in a lungful of air and closed the door to her room with a soft _click_.

That quiet sound echoed in her head more like a judge’s gavel. 

_You are a powerful, capable woman, Darcy Lewis. You can do this._

Behind her, at her desk, Steve had already pulled over two chairs and a plush footrest. It was not the best seating, but it would have to do considering it was all that she had ( _again_ , if the man had just told her his _plans_ she could have set this up better). Darcy watched him carefully pour coffee into three separate mugs, almost lovingly doctoring up each one to their different tastes. Affection flooded her veins at the odd show of domesticity. 

A lock of silky blond hair tumbled over Steve’s forehead as he worked. Darcy quietly padded over, her feet moving on their own accord.

Steve lifted his gaze as he finished stirring in the cream, taking in her slow, cautious approach. He straightened as she reached him but didn’t move a muscle, letting her approach. And so Darcy walked up close enough to have no choice but to tilt her head back to be able to look into his eyes. 

He just stared down at her, his gaze soft, and there was a certain quiet between them. Darcy wondered, briefly, if he was just as scared as her. Steve’s eyes darted between her own, searching her face and then slowly, he lifted both of his hands to cup her jaw.

Cradling her face, Steve bent and brushed warm, soft lips over hers. It was different. Felt different than last night’s frenzy. His mouth still made her feel as light as a feather, still made her lift onto her tip toes, still had her fingers curling into the material of his shirt, but it wasn’t all-consuming. 

_I’ve got you. I love you. It’s going to be okay,_ is what she heard through this kiss.

It was reassurance.

Pulling back, Steve bumped his nose tenderly against hers and Darcy’s eyes slid open. It seemed as if the whole world narrowed down to him and Steve’s gaze softened further. 

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice sliding over her like silk. “Sorry we barged in.”

“Mm,” Darcy sighed, feeling all kinds of sweet and soft as she wrapped her fingers around his wrists where he still cupped her face. “No, you’re not.”

Steve flashed her a quick grin, unrepentant. 

“You’re right, I’m not.” He admitted and skimmed his hands down the sides of her neck, over her shoulders to rub soothingly up and down her arms, all the while moving his keen gaze over her face. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I slept great,” Darcy nodded, and it was the truth. “And look,” she held up her right hand for his inspection. “No shaking today.”

Steve did look and his eyes transformed into two happy half-moons. “Good.”

Darcy watched her own steady hand, eyes catching on the brilliant red marks, and then lowered it, tugging the sleeve of her fluffy robe over the jagged scars until barely the tips of her fingers could be seen. 

“You don’t have to cover it up, you know,” Steve said suddenly, his voice quiet. Darcy’s eyes flashed up and there was something very sad in his gaze. Fingers wrapped around her hidden hand and Steve gave it a light squeeze. “Not around any of us but especially Bucky and I.”

“I know,” Darcy told him, quietly. She lifted a shoulder up to her ear, “I’m just not used to it. I’ll get there.”

Steve opened his mouth but then, out of the corner of her eye, Darcy caught sight of where Bucky had wondered off to. He was inconspicuously hovering near her bed and a distant alarm began to blare in her brain. From the interested tilt of his head, she realized all at once what he was inspecting—

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Bucky’s head snapped up with a grin so wicked that in any other circumstance would have made her toes curl, but right now, Darcy was hurrying across the room to snatch up the goddamn lingerie she had left precariously sitting on her bed. 

“I’ll just take that, thank you very much,” Darcy muttered in a rush, her heart pounding as she threw open a dresser drawer and tossed the thong and bra inside.

Panting, Darcy whirled around and braced her hands against the dark cherry wood. Her face felt like it had been set on fire, the heat of it crawled down her neck.

“Pretty," Bucky commented lightly. "I liked the lace.”

“Oh, my god,” Darcy buried her face in both of her hands.

Across the room, Steve warned. “Behave yourself, Buck.”

A pause and then Bucky answered in a low, sultry challenge, “Or you’ll do what?”

Darcy froze. Everything in her rose to attention. Her eyes widened and she peeked out at the two men through her fingers because, holy fuck, who wouldn’t want to watch the two of them banter with that kind of big dick energy?

Steve was staring Bucky down with a smug look that could only be interpreted as, ‘ _You really want to test me?_ ’ In response, Bucky grinned wildly—the kind of smile that belonged on the face of some untamed thing. The dark-haired man tilted his head back slightly, lifting a cocky brow, and it was in that moment that Darcy caught a glimpse of the big, fat hickey at the base of his neck.

Her brain short-circuited. 

Clearly _things_ had happened last night after she fled to the privacy of her room. And Darcy didn’t know what to think about the heat that stirred in the pit of her stomach when she thought about those _things_.

Too bad she didn’t realize she had lowered her hands from her face and was staring at that dark bruise with an open-mouthed look of interest until it was too late. In a flash, Bucky’s eyes flicked to her and then the bastard winked and sauntered over to the miniature breakfast table Steve had prepared. The brunette plopped down in a chair with his back to her, spreading his legs obscenely wide. 

After a moment of silence, Bucky glanced back over his shoulder. “You gonna come eat with us, Sunshine, or you just gonna stand there all pretty and shocked?”

Her mouth snapped shut with an audible click. 

Overwhelmed, Darcy eyed Bucky for a long moment, trying to get a read on the man. It was harder with him than it was with Steve. With Steve, he was straightforward, what you saw was what you got. If he liked you, he made you very aware, if he didn’t, he made you even more aware.

With Bucky though, Darcy got the distinct feeling that there was a lot more going on beneath the surface that he never quite let show. 

Furrowing her brows, she carefully walked over to her own chair, eyeing Bucky the entire time. “Did you wake up on the feisty side of the bed this morning or something?”

Steve snorted.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Bucky told her, lifting his brows and taking a casual sip of his coffee. 

Darcy lowered herself down to sit, noticing that Steve only sat once she did (um, hello chivalry). The blond was raptly watching the two of them volley back and forth, like this was his favorite new sport. Darcy reached for her own coffee, curling her fingers around the warm mug and crossed one leg over the other. The robe slit openly enough to reveal the skin just above her knee.

Across from her, Bucky’s eyes burned and in response, Darcy’s heart skipped a beat.

“Little help here, Steve,” she finally gave the blond an exasperated look.

Steve lifted both hands in surrender and shook his head. “I’m going to let you two figure this out. You’ll both have to learn how to talk to each other eventually, I just happen to get a front row seat.”

“You’re awful,” Darcy grumbled, though she expected nothing less of the man. Even if it pissed her off a little (or was that just the nerves?). Inwardly bracing herself, she turned back to Bucky, who had yet to take his goddamn eyes off her. She shifted in her chair and ran her tongue over her teeth, considering her words. “Don’t play babe in the woods with me. You’re in rare form today. What gives?”

Swallowing, Bucky wet his bottom bit in a slow, sensuous swipe. “Who says this is rare? I like teasing, always have. But, since you brought it up, we could consider this payback for the fact that I had to watch Steve kiss you last night.”

Stunned, any hope of responding in a manner that wouldn’t involve a squeak fled. Instead, Darcy kept her mouth firmly shut. Her pulse jumped in her throat and both of her brows raced to her hairline as lifted her mug and gulped down a mouthful of coffee.

“So…” Darcy drew out the word, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Desperately needing a subject change, she shifted her eyes to the tray and nodded her chin at it. “What’s for breakfast?”

Steve tilted his head at her, his eyes absolutely sparkling. He was sitting between the two of them and Darcy was grateful for the physical buffer he provided.

“We’ve got pancakes, bacon, eggs, hash browns, strawberries and coffee,” Steve listed off, removing the lids from the platters. Steam floated in the air, dancing into oblivion and Darcy’s mouth watered at the smell. “Nothing special.”

Across from her, Bucky’s eyes crinkled up into a smile. “He’s trying his hardest to _woo_ you.”

Darcy’s eyes flicked up and then off to the side.

“Well, it’s working,” she told Steve, softly, giving him a fond look and the blond puffed up slightly, a little too pleased for his own good.

“Nothing better than a home cooked meal,” Steve murmured as he began to dole out food. It was very clear that he wanted to serve the both of them and Darcy thought it was adorable, if not slightly awkward to sit back and just watch. 

The heaping amount he piled onto Bucky’s plate though had Darcy nearly choking on her coffee. Both men stilled and glanced at her in askance.

“Wow, um, you’ve got quite the appetite,” Darcy blurted stupidly, and then rushed out. “Of course, I’m sure that both of you have to eat a lot more than the average person, huh? Super soldier stuff and all.”

“I usually have to pack away twelve thousand calories a day at least,” Steve told her as though it was no big deal. 

Darcy just blinked rapidly at him, trying to process.

Steve began serving up her plate and it was considerably smaller than the one he had made for Bucky (who hadn’t waited for them and was currently inhaling a syrup drenched pancake with a ludicrous moan). Both paused and watched the brunette openly, Steve with a searing kind of heat and Darcy with a light blush.

Bucky just moaned louder.

When Steve handed her the plate, she mumbled out a quiet thank you and tore her eyes away from the dark-haired man.

And then she took her first bite.

“ _Holy shit_.”

“Good?” Steve quipped lightly, his face one of absolute innocence.

_I will not moan. I will not moan. I will not moan._

Darcy swallowed, squinting at him. “Why didn’t we make you cook at the safehouse? Why did you let us eat weird green soup?”

The blond chuckled lowly at her dramatics as he dug in for himself. Bucky had yet to even come up for air.

“We didn't have the supplies and it made Bruce feel better to help out. Plus, I wasn’t in the right headspace to want to do anything but bash some heads in,” Steve explained while stabbing a forkful of scrambled eggs. Darcy raised her brows in response.

“And now?”

“Oh, I still want to bash some heads in,” he paused, the fork halfway to his mouth, and then slid a heavy glance in her direction. “But I also want other things.”

Across from her, Bucky finally slowed, his plate now half empty. He grabbed a napkin, wiping the corner of his lips where some syrup had dribbled out. Darcy eyed him, gaze dropping to his lips for a split second before turning her attention back to Steve. 

She forced her voice to remain purposefully light. “What other things?”

Steve said nothing for a long time, but he leaned back in his chair. His eyes deliberately trailed down her figure, washing pointedly over every millimeter as though he could see straight through the robe to what was hiding underneath. At that thought, a shiver rolled through her, tingling deliciously along her body until it gathered in her chest and pushed out through the tips of her breasts.

“Why don’t we start with your questions first?” He suggested, his voice deep and low and Darcy felt it all the way in her toes. 

“Okay,” she nodded, her voice sounding very small. Taking another bite of her pancake, she chewed slowly to give herself a little more time to gather her thoughts. Darcy appreciated that fact that both men didn’t turn the entirety of their focus on her, giving her a moment of privacy. Swallowing, Darcy admitted, “Um, like I said last night, I don’t have a ton of questions right now. I’m sure more will come later as… things come up.”

“That’s alright,” Steve’s lips tipped upward in an encouraging way, his face open and earnest. “We’ll start with what you’ve got.”

Darcy inhaled shakily and just as the night before, found it so much easier to keep her gaze on the safety and security that was Steve. “Well, the first one is simple: how’s this going to work?” Then she added quickly, “If it’s something we decide to pursue.”

“I imagine it would be like any other relationship,” Steve told her easily.

Darcy just stared at him.

“But what we’re talking about here isn’t like any other relationship that I know of. It’s not that simple, Steve.”

“Darcy’s right, ‘s’not simple at all,” Bucky chimed in and her eyes flew to him. He was watching her, some unnameable emotion floating in his gaze. “At the same time, Steve’s also right. It’s still a relationship. The way I see it is like this: Steve and I have an intimate bond that is shared between the two of us. Just like you and Steve have private things that you experience together. And, if we do this, eventually you and I would build our own special connection. It’s three individual relationships that at the same time are one. It’s… it’s a cycle where we all give and take and trust and love one another. Where we make each other better. But it’s more than a relationship, it’s a deeper way to love, fuller, richer—a family. Wholeness.”

Steve inhaled sharply when Bucky finished, staring at the other man like he was holding back some strong emotion. But he nodded in full agreement, offering Bucky a grateful smile. There was something in that smile that made Darcy’s heart twist. The dark-haired man just lowered his gaze to his plate.

Darcy couldn’t deny that what Bucky described sounded… incredible. Tempting even.

Clearing her throat, Darcy asked next, “Have you all done this before?”

“Brought in a third?” Bucky clarified and she nodded. He ran a hand through his long hair with a long exhale. “No.”

She started.

“Never?”

“Never,” Steve reiterated at her surprised look. He ducked his head, catching her gaze and holding it. “This is new to us, too, and those nerves you’ve got, I’m feeling them right along with you and despite the smirk that’s been on his face all morning, so is Bucky. I know I said I’d let you two figure yourselves out, but here’s a helpful hint: when he starts messing with his hair like that and when he gets particularly mouthy, that’s one of his tells that he’s nervous about something.”

Appalled, Bucky kicked the footrest Steve sat on, making it creak against the tiled floor as it skidded back a few inches from the force. “Quit givin’ away my secrets, punk.” Bucky grumped and then sat up in his seat, tugging at his hair for a second before stopping and glaring at Steve who started to snicker. Dropping his hand unceremoniously to his lap, Bucky looked at Darcy and grimaced. “He’s right, I’m nervous as hell. And to answer your question, both Steve and I have had relationships with women, mostly superficial—”

“Peggy excluded.”

Bucky slanted a _heavy_ look at Steve and then amended, “Peggy was _his_ exception. She never liked me.”

“That’s because you both were too similar, too stubborn.”

“I told you that you’ve got a _type_ , Rogers.”

“Mm. Remind me what type that is?” There was something downright sensual in the way Steve asked that question and Darcy filed it away in her ‘ask Steve privately what the hell he means’ file.

The two men shared a look that could hold bricks and it lasted for a solid seven seconds before Bucky turned back to Darcy, continuing as though this was perfectly normal. 

“We’ve never brought someone home to the other or invited them into our relationship though. It never felt right.”

Her head spun at the clear implication.

“And,” Darcy began, her voice quiet, unsure, “what changed your minds?”

Bucky gestured to Steve in a ‘ _you, first_ ’ manner. Nodding, Steve wiped his lips with a napkin and then smoothed a hand over his short beard. 

“For me?” Steve began, tilting his head towards Darcy. His eyes were warm and glittering like the summer sun reflecting off the sea. “That’s easy: you did.”

Her stomach clenched. 

Steve read the surprise clear on her face and chuckled lightly, “You’re going to have to get it through your head at some point that I want you, Darcy. I don’t know how to be any clearer with you.”

“A word of warning,” Bucky piped up, a smirk playing about his lips as he gave Darcy a significant look. “When the punk makes his mind up about something, you don’t stand a chance. You’re doomed to be pummeled with his aggressive affection.”

Offended, Steve grumbled, “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Steve, I love you,” Bucky told him incredulously, “but you can be a _hell_ of a lot to take. Nothin’ against you, you’re just…”

“Intense.” Darcy admitted and Steve whipped is head around to look at her in surprise. She gave him an apologetic smile.

Bucky pointed at her, flicking his eyes back to the blond. “See, she gets it.”

“Bucky, what made you get on board with the idea of bringing me into this?” Darcy cut in before the two of them could start sassing back and forth. 

The question was bold and the confidence with which it left her lips shocked her momentarily (thank you, lingerie), but Darcy needed to know. The ground beneath her feet with Steve was pretty solid and growing more solid by the day, even if she still mostly expected to wake up from a crazy-ass dream. As for Bucky, he had been right, back on the roof. She had a strange kind of pull towards him, felt in some ways like she almost knew him, had dreamed about him before she ever even met him, but Darcy wanted it to be more than that. She wanted it to be a choice— _needed_ to know it was a choice. Not because Steve had a plan, not because some infinity stone decided to play matchmaker.

Bucky was quiet for what felt like an eternity, staring back at her, his face utterly unreadable. Then—

“I’m still making up my mind,” he admitted, his voice quiet. Darcy blinked, her mouth falling open and even Steve looked taken aback. Carefully, Bucky leaned forward, setting his empty plate on the rolling tray. The ceramic clinked lightly. Leaning back in his chair, he observed her seriously. “You look surprised.”

She wracked her brain for an answer.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. You’ve just been very… forward. Not in a bad way but in an obvious one.”

Bucky smiled at her and it was more subdued than she had ever seen from him. Gone was the flirty, teasing, infuriating man and what stood in his place…

“You haven’t read me wrong, Darcy,” Bucky was saying and she blinked, focusing back on him. His gaze gentled, “I’m very open to the idea of trying this out, excited about it, and like Steve told you earlier—nervous. Because I _want_ this to work. I want the three of us—so fucking much. But there’s a difference between flirting and riling someone up, which I enjoy doing, and really letting someone in. For me to make the conscious decision to bring someone else into a place where I know Steve is vulnerable? That’s a lot harder.”

“You feel protective,” Darcy murmured. 

Bucky nodded, slowly. Between the two of them, Steve had gone very still.

“You might not be able to physically hurt either one of us, but a lotta of times the worst pain isn’t physical at all,” Bucky explained further, though he didn’t need to. She had understood. “So, I’ll be upfront with you: I want to test the waters, I want to date, I want to flirt and see how badly I can make you blush, but I haven’t entirely made my mind up yet about permanency. It’s why I told you up on the roof that I wanted to get to know you. I meant that. I think there’s somethin’ here and I’m the kind of person that doesn’t believe in coincidence. Maybe we needed the stone to push us to it, but even if the stone wasn’t here, I’d want us to try. I think you’re an incredible woman,” he paused then and grinned ruefully, giving her a sly once over. “I also think your fuckin’ beautiful and if we had you,” Bucky’s voice dropped low and gravelly, dragging through his throat. “We’d make every man or woman on earth so jealous they couldn’t _breathe_.”

Pinned in her seat by the promise in Bucky’s eyes, Darcy felt every hair on the back of her neck raise. Unbidden, choking desire bubbled up over her body, vicious and burning like napalm. 

There wasn’t enough air on this planet to fill her lungs. The tension was unbearable.

And when Steve slowly, agonizingly slowly, slid his burning eyes to her, it was like a punctuation mark to Bucky’s declaration. Darcy felt her breath skate across her lips in an uneven, shallow exhale.

Flames licked at her skin; she was seconds away from igniting.

“Because of that, I want to be careful about this,” Bucky began again, and he sounded breathless, caught up in the moment himself. “If for whatever reason you and I don’t mesh or if you aren’t one-hundred percent on board… I love Steve and I care about what he loves. The man is obviously head over heels for you, so no matter what happens, Darcy Lewis, you’re gonna have a friend—an ally in me. I’ve got your back.”

Inch by inch, her muscles unlocked. Darcy dropped her gaze to her lap as she thought about his promise. Dizzy, the world around her spun. She wet her lips and cleared her throat. “Thank you for your honesty. It… it actually takes a little bit of the pressure off.”

“Why’s that?”

Darcy inhaled deeply, “Because I’m not the only one who isn’t sure. It’s not that… I mean, I’m also interested— _more_ than a little interested, but I’m also really scared. Nervous. This is just so new to me.”

“I guess I’m the odd man out then,” Steve voiced, the corner of his lips hitching up. His eyes darted between the two of them. “Which is funny because I usually get to play the cynic. Listen, I’m happy for both of you to take your time to feel this out and get to know one another. But I don’t want either of you choosing this just because of me and then regretting it.”

“Steve—”

Darcy never got to finish.

“ _Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, Miss Lewis,_ ” FRIDAY chimed in and all three of them froze. 

“ _I apologize for the interruption. Sir has called an emergency meeting for all Compound residents. Please go to conference room four immediately._ ”

A feeling of cold dread crawled up Darcy’s spine. Very slowly, Bucky straightened in his chair, every muscle in his body tensing. 

“Something’s wrong,” he breathed.

* * *

“And here I thought you had forgotten me.”

Loki drawled out lazily from where he lay on his cot. One long leg draped over the edge and he couldn’t really be bothered to bring himself to sit up and deal with Thor. Even if he was exceptionally bored, he still wasn’t _that_ bored.

And then the second set of footsteps reached his ears.

Curious, Loki gracefully curled his body up. Brows shooting to his hairline, the God of Mischief’s bright green eyes took in the new arrival with something akin to glee. 

“I see that the stonekeeper was successful yet again,” he mused and then crooned out a pleased, “Hello Jane. It's been _such_ a long time.”

Beside his brother, the woman stood her ground and held his gaze without flinching, which was no small thing to do. 

“Still as much spirit as ever,” Loki’s grin was sharp as a blade. She jutted her chin out. Tilting his head, he observed her closely. “Perhaps even more.”

“We are not in a gaming mood, brother.” Thor rumbled impatiently and Loki’s mouth flattened in mock disappointment.

Sighing like one truly long-suffering, Loki asked, flatly, “Then pray tell, what kind of mood _are_ you in?”

Silence. Then—

“We are in need of your counsel.”

Shock rolled through him, but he carefully hid it, choosing instead to feign ignorance. He gave the two of them an incredulous look and shook his head. “I’m afraid I am not the best example for healthy relationship advice. Perhaps one of your new team—”

Thor stepped forward, face made of stone.

“Do you remember where father died?”

The question hit him with the physical force of Mjolnir and all pretense slid away like snow off a mountainside. He stiffened and answered tightly. “Of course.”

“I have visited it twice now, in my dreams, as has Jane,” Thor motioned to the tiny woman and Loki followed with his gaze. She tiled her head in challenge as he met her eyes. He ignored it as Thor continued. “Each time the same dream and in each dream a large raven circles above.”

Loki went very still. When he spoke, his words were precise and something resembling a hiss. “Did the raven speak?”

“The inscription of Mjolnir.”

His breath left him in a soft whoosh and Loki turned his head to the side, his mind racing.

“So, it has been remade,” he murmured in quiet awe.

“But how—why?” Thor rushed out, his brows pulling together as he blinked rapidly. “Why now, after all this time?”

Slowly, Loki turned to his brother, feeling a familiar flood of magic rush into his fingertips. A green light glowed in his eyes. “Because war is coming, brother, and fate must know that you are going to need to wield it once more.”

“ _I apologize for the interruption,_ ” came a disembodied voice from above. Loki’s eyes flew upwards. “ _Sir has called an emergency meeting for all Compound residents. Please go to conference room four immediately_.”

Staring at the ceiling, Loki frowned. “Perhaps war has already come.”

* * *

By the time Darcy got changed and into the conference room, Jane and Thor were waiting—with Loki. Darcy ignored the piercing gaze of the raven-haired god trailing her every move with great interest and the significant look from her best friend as she arrived with two super soldiers on her heels. Silently, Darcy hurried over to the seat Jane had saved for her, sinking into it with a nervous glance.

Jane just shook her head as if to say, ‘ _I have no idea what’s going on_.’

Steve and Bucky took two of the remaining seats at the head of the table and Darcy caught both of their eyes flicking to her more than once. They were strung tight, as if bracing for bad news and Darcy took her lead from them and from the way her stomach was churning. 

People, at times, had premonitions; gut feelings about something that is about to happen. Darcy had never experienced this phenomenon before, but she imagined that it must be something very much like this. This sense of quiet dread that told her everything was about to change.

Soon, the conference room filled with more bodies than there were seats for. And not a single being uttered a word.

Tony stood at the head of the table, looking paler than usual, his mouth set in a hard line. The expressions that normally graced the billionaire’s face were nothing like the grim anger Darcy saw now. He watched everyone file in and his stillness set her teeth on edge.

Without a word, Tony picked up a small remote and pointed it at the center of the table. An invisible screen flickered to life and then Darcy was staring into the shocked and terrified eyes of a news reporter. The paper he held in his hands was shaking visibly.

“ _Reports came in early this morning, first from the Bronx, and then from Queens, Brooklyn, Hell’s Kitchen, and now in nearly every borough of New York City. I must warn you that what you are about to see is disturbing._ ” 

Darcy exhaled shakily and Jane slipped her hand into hers under the table, squeezing until her knuckles stretched bone white. 

What came next, in short, was like something out of the _Blair Witch Project_. Clips of videos taken by shaky, out of focus cell phone cameras and for a long time, all Darcy’s mind could register was the people screaming. 

It was a sound she knew she would never un-hear.

Then came the creatures, six legged creatures that ran in packs and swarms across the city streets, tearing into anyone they came across. Blood splattered the sidewalks and they spared no one—man, woman, or child.

The screen jumped back to the news reporter. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“ _There has been a state-wide curfew put into place. Stay in your homes. Gather whatever weapons you can find, do not go outside._ ” He paused, staring into the camera; silver lined the rim of his eyes as he struggled to swallow. Then—“ _God be with us all_.”

The screen disappeared and silence fell.

Frozen in a drowning horror, Darcy stared blankly ahead, her lips parted. The room grew blurry and she blinked. A hot tear slipped down her cheek and she couldn’t move, couldn’t bring herself to wipe it away.

No one seemed to be able to even speak.

No one, except for—

“Can anyone tell me why the hell we are just sitting on our asses while those fuckers destroy the city?” Clint exploded at last and Darcy shook at the volume and menace in his voice. Swallowing wetly, she closed her mouth and turned to the archer. 

He looked like a man holding a match, doused in gasoline.

Clint’s burning gaze roved over the room as a whole and when no one said anything, he snapped and flung the pen he had been twirling nervously in his fingers across the room like a javelin. It sailed high over Darcy’s head, impaling itself on the wall behind her.

“Get the damn plane and get us out there before more people die.”

“It might be an ambush,” Bruce tried, his voice so quiet Darcy had to strain to hear it. The soft-spoken scientist kept his eyes lowered to the table, his expression torn.

Clint’s mouth twisted in an ugly way and he shook his head vehemently. “No, see, I know one when I see one and that’s not what this is. _This_ ,” he tapped two fingers onto the table in rapid succession, “is a massacre. This is—”

“They’re hunting the stone,” Natasha spoke up suddenly and for once, her green eyes were not muted. There was a haunted, hollowed out look in them that deeply frightened Darcy.

Clint gestured wildly at the redhead and nodded to the rest of them, raising both eyebrows as if to say, ‘ _see what I mean?_ ’

“Clint’s right,” she began again. “We send a team out. We still need to protect the stone here, but we have never abandoned people to die and we won’t start now. That’s not who we are.”

Standing among the gathered crowd of Skrulls lining the walls, Carol lifted her head.

“I’ll go,” she stepped forward, her voice an edict. “If they’re hunting an infinity stone, the signature I carry may lead them astray.”

“We will, also.” Talos dipped his head, placing one hand on his chest.

Clint watched them both and nodded grimly. “Then Natasha and I are going with you.”

At the end of the table, sitting next to where Tony still stood, Steve shifted in his chair, drawing all eyes to him. There was a darkness in his gaze, a holy and fearful kind of fury. Darcy watched him open his mouth and knew the words that were about to come out before he ever said them.

“Good,” Steve told the others resolutely. “I’ll join. We’ll leave as soon as we’re done here.”

Darcy shifted forward in her seat, something inside of her shaking in terror. She wanted to stand up and go to Steve, but Tony beat her to it.

“With all due respect, Cap, we need you here.” The billionaire was staring hard at Steve. “They can hold off the dogs but if we’re preparing for war, if there’s a chance that Thanos could attack this place while they’re gone because of the stone, we…” Tony stopped, clenching his jaw and looking for all the world like he had taken in a mouthful of vinegar. “ _I_ need you here, Steve.”

Tony’s words hung between them, suspended and swirling like dust motes in a beam of light, and Darcy’s nails bit into the skin of her palm. 

For a long time, Steve was silent. Everyone was silent. Tony didn’t bother to look around the room, to take in their reactions. His eyes bored into Steve intently, as if everything in the world hung on his answer.

It was a struggle, but Darcy saw the moment Steve agreed, loosening his muscles and giving the billionaire a single nod. She nearly cried out in relief.

“I hate to bring this up,” Bruce’s voice snapped Darcy back to herself. He slanted a sorry look in her direction. “But if we’re talking about war, we don’t have enough manpower to even stand a fighting chance.”

“We will.”

A scraping sound ripped through the room as a USB slid across the table. Darcy was lucky to clumsily catch it before it fell into her lap. She frowned slightly and then looked up. 

Clint merely flicked his eyes down to the device and then back up to her face. “Once Darcy opens the stone again.”

It struck her like a hand across the face, what he had just given her, what he had promised to get for her. Darcy held the USB in her scarred hand and stared down at it, seeing her own reflection in the sleek plastic cover.

“Care to share with the rest of the class, or are we just supposed to guess?”

Lifting her gaze, Darcy met Tony’s questioning gaze. Beside the billionaire, Steve looked like he was almost vibrating out of his skin. 

Darcy bit her lip, inhaling. “I asked for a comprehensive list of all the Avengers who were Snapped. Names. Pictures. That way I would know who to pull out of the stone.”

Tony jerked—like he had an epiphany. The billionaire’s eyes flew to Jane. He snapped his fingers to get her attention. Jane ‘ _hmm’d?_ ’ and then gasped and nodded at him rapidly. Quickly, the astrophysicist stood from her seat and hurried to follow Tony out of the conference room before either Darcy or Thor could say a word. Darcy was staring after the door her friend left when—

“ _Darcy_.”

Clint slid a dangerous look at Steve who was leaning forward trying to get her attention, his hand closed in a tight fist. The archer lifted one cool brow, his voice turning mean. “Yeah, you’re going to get over that coddling shit _real_ fast, Cap. We’ve all got tough decisions to make and a part to play. We’ve known since the moment Loki brought back the stone that there would be a sacrifice and—”

“—and it’s not you being ripped open by an infinity stone every time you touch it.” Steve bit out with real venom, his eyes flashing.

“Maybe if you weren’t just interested in getting your dick wet—”

Darcy flinched, shame washing over her, turning her face a bright red.

And then faster than she knew it was possible for a human to move, Bucky, who had been utterly silent, was on his feet and yanking Clint straight out of his chair by his throat. He shoved the archer through the crowd until his back slammed into the wall. Unintelligible shouts erupted, chairs were knocked over as people jumped to their feet and Darcy’s throat closed entirely. 

The knife Bucky held under the archer’s chin glinted in the overhead light. 

Clint’s eyes widened, fingers wrapping around Bucky’s wrists, but he otherwise stayed perfectly still, even as his eyes bulged. The two men stared at one another and then Bucky leaned in close.

“Run your fuckin’ mouth again and I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it back to you.” Bucky promised him in a voice softer than winter’s first snowfall. His anger was not a raging inferno but something cold and icy and biting and wholly unforgiving.

 _Click_.

The sound was quiet, but it cracked through the room like a whip. 

Darcy’s eyes flew to the gun Natasha suddenly had pressed against the back of Bucky’s head, reeling in a vertigo so violent that nausea twisted her stomach into knots.

“I’m going to count to three,” the Black Widow said. Her voice did not shake, did not falter. She was as calm as death itself. “I may not agree with Barton, but you are going to step back _right_ now. One…”

“ _Enough_ ,” Steve ordered in a tone that Darcy had never heard from him before. It left no room for arguments. 

It was a tense few seconds before Natasha lowered her gun. She didn’t put it away, but she lowered it. Bucky released Clint. The archer’s throat bobbed and even from where she sat, Darcy could see the red marks left behind from Bucky’s left hand. 

Stiffly, Bucky returned to his seat. The crowd parted for him, some of the Skrulls scrambling out of his way. He never once looked at Darcy, slate gray eyes locked resolutely on the table before him.

Gradually, everyone else returned to their seats—except for Natasha. She stood behind Clint, at the ready. Her point clearly made.

Steve’s jaw ticked. 

“I don’t want us to fight, we’ve got a big enough enemy already. We don’t need to add more amongst ourselves. That being said, you do seem awful eager to spill blood that isn’t your own, Barton. That’s where I have my problem,” Steve tried, his tone less defensive.

Clint snorted humorlessly, still clearly riled up. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, barely more than a rasp, like he had screamed it all out.

“That’s easy for you to say. Didn’t you sneak her off for a fucking mission back at the safehouse? What, now suddenly things are different—you care?” 

Steve looked stunned. 

_BOOM_.

The building shook—it actually fucking _shook_ under a crack of thunder so loud that for a moment, Darcy thought that a bomb had gone off. A yelp escaped her lips and she jumped in her seat. The room as a whole held their collective breath. Outside, the sun disappeared entirely, overtaken by a black, ominous cloud. 

Thor did not rise from his seat but lightning danced dangerously at his fingertips and his eyes turned pure white. Every hair on Darcy’s arms stood straight up. 

The God of Thunder did not take his eyes from Clint as he spoke, his voice sounding like something completely _other_. “I have held my tongue, but I will not anymore. Your squabbling is that of a child. Darcy has offered the most precious of gifts and I will not sit here and let you dishonor her.”

It was impressive, almost, how Clint somehow still managed to meet Thor’s piercing gaze. The two stared at one another for a long time. Silence fell outside of the low rumbling echoing through the sky.

And then, like a crack shattering thick ice, searing pain flashed across Clint’s face, so sharp that Darcy felt it slice against her skin.

“My wife and children are dead,” the archer said at last, his voice thick. Behind him, Natasha was a pillar of stone. And then Clint’s face crumbled, his lips curling back from his teeth as he tried to find his voice. “That fucking menace took them. You think I don’t hate what I’m becoming? I do. But I don’t care what I have to do to get them back. I’ll sell my soul if I need to.”

There was something deeply frightening in that admission. And Darcy realized it then, this raw, angry, volatile man was every single one of them. 

Clint was the whole world drowning endlessly in the aching, gaping hole of grief. A thing so terrible, so unbearable, that it twisted everything inside into gnarled tree roots until it was no longer recognizable.

Around the room, heads lowered, and the silence was so thick, it made it hard to breathe. Darcy kept searching for the right words, knowing she needed to speak up, but they slipped out of her grasp every time she came close. 

Finally, she latched onto something and it rang like truth in her blood, it marched through her veins, and she could not ignore its fierce sound.

“You won’t have to, Clint,” she said, finally and the words broke in her voice. The archer’s eyes were red and very bright. Darcy nodded at him and then inhaled and turned to the rest of the room. Her voice, for once, was steady. “I asked for the list because I am going to bring back as many Avengers as I physically can and none of you are going to decide for me otherwise. Because _fuck_ Thanos,” Darcy practically spit his name from her lips. Her jaw clenched. “My choice is made.”

Silence.

And then the door to the conference room burst open.

“ _Geez_ ,” Tony said breezily as he waltzed back inside, a beaming Jane on his tail. “Talk about dramatics.”

Blinking in shock, Darcy had completely forgotten the two of them had run off earlier. Her throat went dry as she took in the way they appeared to be thick as thieves.

“Are they always like this?” Jane asked Tony and he rolled his eyes at her.

“Worse, if you can believe it. Now, if you all are done bickering, we have something to show you.”

Without any further introduction, Tony marched around the table, his hands tucked behind his back as he weaved through the crowd until he reached Darcy’s seat. She swiveled in her chair and watched him warily. Tony gave her his best charity fundraiser grin and then pulled out a red and gold metallic glove—one that looked like it belonged on an Iron Man suit—from behind his back.

Bowing magnanimously, Tony held it out to her as an offering. “For you, Milady.”

Reeling from the emotional rollercoaster she had just been through, Darcy looked at it flatly and then flicked her eyes back to Tony.

“I don’t like being handed things.” She threw his words back at him.

A single note laugh punched its way out of Tony’s chest. “Touché.”

“Tony,” Steve called out in a strained voice. “What is it?”

“A gauntlet,” the billionaire answered and there was something biting in his dark eyes as he stared down at his sleek creation—something triumphant. “I was tired of Thanos having the only gauntlet, so I made my own.”

“ _I am Groot._ ”

Darcy’s head shot up at Groot’s offended cry. The sentient tree was almost completely hidden behind the Skrulls. Peter stood next to him, looking pale but nodding enthusiastically.

“Treebeard helped,” Tony amended. “As did Peter and Jane and my god, it’s exhausting making this a whole team credit thing.”

“How would it work?” Darcy had yet to touch the glove but was eyeing it curiously. 

Tony carefully set it on the table and the entire room seemed to lean in to get a better look. 

“The stone in an energy source, the most powerful energy source I’ve come across. Think of yourself like an ill-equipped wire. If plugged into an energy source that powerful, it would, for lack of better words, fry. With this, it provides a channel other than your physical body for the stone. If we place the stone in it, the gauntlet should allow for you to not be as overwhelmed and simultaneously we’ll be able to capture the energy that is expelled and store it to power our own force field shield modeled after our friends in Wakanda.”

The billionaire finished, his voice nonchalant, but Darcy didn’t buy that shit for a second. She saw the twitchy way his fingers moved. Tony was excited about this.

_As he fucking should be._

“I…” Darcy was at a loss of words. She finally sputtered out, “This—this is brilliant.”

“Shush, I haven’t gotten to the best part yet. Don’t offer me premature praise.”

“What’s the best part?”

Tony stared down at her and it was with nothing short of elation. “You should be able to pull out more than one person at a time—a mass exodus.”

The room went utterly silent. Then—

“Holy shit,” unintentional tears pricked in Darcy’s eyes. Her hand flew to her mouth.

_Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Hold it together, Darcy._

“Give me two days.” Tony then turned to Clint. Despite his joking earlier, there was a certain level of compassion when he looked at the archer. “Hold off the dogs for two days so I can finish this and work out the internal kinks.”

“Done,” Clint assured him with a single nod.

Swallowing wetly, Darcy tilted her head up. She reached for the billionaire’s hand, grabbing it with both of hers. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Don’t mention it,” he waved his free hand at her. “Really, please, don’t. I’ll get emotional.”

Darcy didn’t miss the way his hand squeezed one of hers, even as he flicked his eyes around the room in a bored manner.

“There is one issue,” Jane worried her lip. She lifted both brows at Tony meaningfully. He just nodded. 

“I’ve been scrambling the energy signal ever since the stone arrived here. But opening it with this,” he pointed to the gauntlet and squinted. “The signal will be so strong I won’t be able to hide it. Meaning that Darcy will have no choice but to bring out as many as she possibly can at once because after that, Thanos will know exactly where we are, and he will bring hell with him.”

“We can’t let him get the stone and Darcy.” Natasha said, green eyes dropping to the gauntlet. “The two will need to be separated. She’ll have to go on the run.”

Instantly, Darcy’s eyes shot to Steve. He was already watching her and nodded at her desperate, silent request. His chest expanded as he inhaled and opened his mouth—

“I’ll take her.”

Everything she was seemed to rush away from Darcy’s head. Her eyes flew to Bucky, feeling the blood drain from her face. Steve also turned sharply to the dark-haired man but Bucky was studiously ignoring him.

“If she needs to disappear, we all know that I’m the best option in this room,” Bucky paused and then dipped his head in respect towards the Black Widow, “Natalia excluded. No one will find us unless I want them to.”

“I found you,” Steve reminded him and the corners of Bucky’s lips hitched upwards. He slanted a look at Steve, cocking one brow.

“And you think I didn’t want you to?”

The two watched each other, having some kind of silent conversation. Darcy was reeling once again, trying to wrap her head around how swiftly things were changing.

“Do you think it will be enough?” Bruce asked, nodding at the gauntlet. His brows pinched. “Last time we had numbers in Wakanda and still Thanos beat us. We need something _more_.”

A beat of silence.

“Would an army do?”

Slowly, they all turned to Loki. He had been uncharacteristically silent on the other side of Thor. The god’s arm was resting on the table like a ruler would rest upon the arm of his throne. He swirled his index finger in a slow circle on the table. “I am afraid I have not been entirely forthcoming.”

“You don’t say?” Tony bristled and Loki’s green eyes flashed to him.

“I have kept my secrets for good reason. Just as you don’t trust me fully, neither do I entirely trust a people who keep me in a cage,” the words were wrapped in silk while Loki’s eyes were anything but. “However, I am willing to offer this.”

“Which is?”

The God of Mischief paused, delicate dark brows arching slightly. “An army. Not the Chitauri, but…” he slid his gaze to Thor and Darcy saw a flicker of something else in his eyes, something almost vulnerable. “Asgardians.”

“What?” The question left Thor’s chest in something akin to heartbreak and Loki had the decency to appear apologetic. Thor’s voice shook with emotion as he warned, “Do not jest about this. Do not let this be some cruel amusement for you.”

Loki bowed his head slightly. “I am sorry, brother, for keeping this from you. This is no trick of mine. It is the truth.”

All the air seemed to leave Thor’s chest as he deflated in his seat. “They are—they still live?” 

“Yes. I rescued as many as I could from that ship and they have been safely hidden with our old friend, Valkyrie, near the very location you have been dreaming of." At this, Jane gasped aloud. Thor, however, did not take his eyes away from Loki even once. “They are waiting for the day I call them out of the shadows and they are ready to _fight_.”

For the longest time, Thor just stared at his younger brother, looking for all the world as though he was seeing the sun peeking out of the horizon after the darkest night of his soul.

“We have much to discuss,” Thor told him with a deep rumble and Loki merely nodded. 

“It’s decided then,” Steve rose from his seat to his full height. He looked around the room, meeting as many eyes as he could, holding some longer than others, as if he were offering strength where strength was needed. Darcy watched as different people straightened up under his attention, nodding, faces grim and determined. 

And then—

“Danvers and company will go to the city. Thor and Loki will bring the Asgardians. Darcy will open the stone again in two days and then she and Bucky will leave. The rest of us will stay here and prepare for Thanos. You have your orders. You know your missions. Be careful and look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives and we’re _going_ to win.” Steve’s eyes met Darcy’s across the room then and it felt like an understanding. His throat worked, and when he spoke next, it was just for her. 

“ _Whatever it takes_.”

* * *

The meeting ended but Darcy stayed in her seat, not quite sure her legs were steady enough to stand. Where her mind would normally race in a panic after all this news, it was strangely calm. Quiet. 

Voices murmured around her as different people spoke in hushed tones, slowly filing out of the conference room. And then someone was standing next to her chair, looming over her.

Blinking slowly, Darcy came back to herself and turned. Loki stared down at her, his expression contemplative. And for once, Darcy felt no fear when she looked at him.

“Might I have a word?” He asked quietly and she felt herself nod. The God of Mischief eyed her for a moment before flicking his eyes to an empty corner of the room and back to her, a silent request. 

Dazed, Darcy pushed back her chair and Loki didn’t wait to see if she followed him as he moved steadily to the more private area. When he turned around, it struck Darcy just how fucking tall he was. Like Thor, he towered over her but unlike his brother, Loki was built like an alley-cat—lean and hungry. He glanced around the room, eyes stilling on something over her head that made him smirk slightly before flicking his gaze back down to her.

“I want to make you an offer.”

Taken aback, Darcy blurted, “Of what?”

“Protection.” He told her and she frowned. “I am not sure you understand the depth to which you are a threat to Thanos. Out of any of us, _you_ are the only one who can undo his power within the stones—even in just the one. He does not share power and he will stop at nothing to destroy you.”

Loki’s gaze was earnest but there was something dark swirling there, something that told Darcy to believe him, that he might be the only one of them that knows the depths of Thanos’ cruelty.

“What kind of protection are you talking about?” She asked, folding her arms across her chest and shifting on her feet.

Hesitating, Loki finally told her, “There is a spell. It is one my mother taught me but I must warn you, it is very dangerous and once you make this deal, there is no going back.”

“How would it work?”

“Much like a shield. Once cast, it would make it so that anyone, any flesh, that touches you, friend or foe, will die,” Darcy’s eyes widened and Loki added gravely. “Instantly and horribly.”

Shaken, Darcy’s heart sprinted. “Can it be removed?”

“Yes.”

“Only by you?” 

Loki just nodded, slowly.

“Everyone here is going off to war of some kind. If you die before you can remove it, then I’m stuck like that…” Darcy’s throat tightened, her voice straining, “forever?” 

There was a long moment of silence as Darcy searched Loki’s face. He hid his thoughts well. And then it came upon her like a slow rising dawn. 

“The stone is still going to kill me, isn’t it? Even with Tony’s gauntlet.”

Loki held her gaze and there was no pity there. Merely truth. 

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “Not right away, but over time it will wear you down until your mind or body breaks. Perhaps a few months at best. The stone is an odd thing, it heals and destroys all at once. The only hope you have of surviving this is to cut your soul tie from the stone. So far, no stonekeeper in history has been able to do such a thing and live.”

Darcy took that information, felt it wash over her. She knew, deep down in the marrow of her bones, that what Loki said was true. The gauntlet made pulling the Avengers out of the stone possible, but it wasn’t a fix-all. 

Nodding silently, Darcy asked one last question, something niggling in the back of her mind. “Why did your mother know such a spell?”

The god looked at her in surprise.

“My mother was a queen among queens,” Loki said with no small amount of pride. “But she was also a warrior raised by witches. Her magic was brilliant and used for good, but she also had quite the bite.”

Loki's voice changed when he spoke about her. Not much, but enough to solidify Darcy’s decision.

“Okay,” she inhaled deeply, bracing herself. “I accept your offer.”

Loki bowed in acknowledgement, nothing more than a slight tilt of his head, but it felt regal nonetheless. And then his eyes flicked once more over her head and his green gaze sharpened into something that could only be his namesake—mischief.

Frowning, Darcy twisted around and found that Bucky had moved closer while Steve was in deep discussion with Natasha. The dark-haired man was clearly keeping an eye on her and Loki in a manner that made Darcy think he had already taken on his bodyguard duties.

“I will give you one hour,” Loki’s voice drew Darcy’s attention once more. She whirled around to look at him only to be met by a knowing grin. Dark brows lifted delicately, “After that, come find me and I will cast the spell. My one piece of advice is this: use this time wisely. It is no easy thing to deny oneself touch. Best to make the memory last.”

* * *

The instant Loki returned to where Thor and Jane were examining the gauntlet, Bucky was there. He had crossed the room swiftly, dodging chairs that hadn’t been pushed back to the table, his eyes locked on her.

Darcy watched him approach, her stomach clenching and she knew her face was probably doing a shit job of pretending like everything was normal.

“You good?” Bucky’s eyes flicked over her for a quick inspection. Hugging her arms around her middle, Darcy sucked on her teeth, her eyes sliding shut and she nodded. He frowned in response. “What did he want?”

She inhaled, “To make a deal.”

“Tell me you didn’t.”

Darcy hadn’t seen Steve approaching from the side, but she turned at the disbelieving tone. The blond's steps slowed, his expression an odd mixture of anger and dismay—as though he already knew the answer.

“He’s… there’s a spell,” Darcy told them as Steve came to a gradual stop next to Bucky. Steve let out a violent oath, turning his head to the side, his jaw clenched hard enough that it looked like it might crack his teeth. Watching him, Darcy hurried to explain, “He says it’ll protect me.”

To her left, Bucky just stared and for the life of her, Darcy couldn’t understand the flash of hurt that shot through his eyes. It happened so fast, she thought she was seeing things. Still, brows furrowing slightly, she shifted towards Bucky, but Steve’s sharp question stopped her in her tracks.

“ _How?_ ”

Darcy halted and winced. “Once the spell is in place, no one will be able to physically touch me. If they do, they’ll die… I know,” Darcy admitted, “it’s extreme but if things are about to get really bad, it might be what we need. That way we know that no matter what happens, I can stand a better chance to still be here to open the stone if somehow Thanos snaps again.”

“What about if you have an episode?” Steve’s nostrils flared, throwing his hand out to the side. “No one can touch you then, even to help?”

Blinking, Darcy realized she hadn’t thought of that. “I guess,” she started slowly, the words rolling around on her tongue. “That’s just the price I get to pay. But Steve, please, _please_ understand that this is _my_ _choice_ and what I need right now is your support." She looked at him, her eyes burning. "I’m begging you.”

“Jesus, you don’t have to beg, Darcy,” Steve’s voice gentled even as he exhaled explosively. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms and Darcy nearly fell into his chest in relief. Burying her face in the soft material of his shirt, she felt the words before she ever heard them. “How long do you have?”

Large, warm hands swept slowly up and down the lines of her back. Darcy squeezed her eyes shut. “One hour.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Well then,” Bucky spoke up, yawning heavily. Darcy turned in Steve’s embrace to look at him. He smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I think _I’m_ gonna go catch up on some sleep. Had a long night and all.”

The corners of her mouth turned downward and Darcy pulled away from Steve. His hands dropped to the dip in her waist as he, too, carefully watched his lover. With luxurious slowness, Bucky stepped forward, lifting his hand to brush a knuckle down Darcy’s cheek.

His gaze softened behind fluttering dark lashes and Bucky’s voice became merely a breath in the back of his throat. 

“Love him well.”

Time had lost its meaning hours ago it seemed and then Bucky lifted his gaze to Steve, sharing a long, unfathomable look with him before turning and walking away. They silently watched Bucky amble out of the conference room, hands in his pockets. 

He never once looked back.

In that moment, Darcy wished she was braver. She wished she was capable of running down that hall to bring Bucky back. She wished and wished and wished and yet, she wasn’t.

“I’ll talk to him,” Steve murmured, his hands squeezing lightly at her waist. And then his hands slid lower, to the flare of her hips and Darcy felt his fingertips at the top of the curve of her ass. “Clock is ticking, I guess.”

Steve said the words lightly but Darcy felt the tension hovering just underneath the surface, staring up at them with glittering eyes in the darkest of nights.

Inhaling deeply through her nose, Darcy deliberately tilted her head back to meet Steve’s searching gaze. Twin blue flames danced.

“What do you want, Darcy?” Steve pushed the whispered words huskily along his exhale.

A part of her melted under his heat, the runoff pooling between her legs, warm and heavy. Darcy felt boneless and at the same time surer than she had ever been of anything in her entire life when she answered with a soft but firm, “You. I want you before it's too late.”

Something dark and erotic bled into Steve’s face at her answer and Darcy’s heart nearly stopped. He released her waist, instead wrapping a big hand around her wrist before turning on his heel. He boldly lead her out of the conference room, pulling her behind him and, for once, Darcy didn’t give a damn who saw or what they thought.

* * *

There was a slow and constant drip, drip, drip of water against freezing stone. The walls were slick and the light was dim. Thick iron shackles were clamped around his wrists and ankles, the skin underneath raw from the early days when he tried to slip out of them to no avail.

The Jotun was better at magic than he had assumed and had laid a spell deep within these manacles. A spell strong enough that even one such as he had yet to escape it. The chains themselves were not unbreakable, there was nothing on this earth that was unbreakable, he had just yet to discover their undoing. Every time he attempted, they tightened painfully—biting into his skin in punishment. And so he waited.

“Did you hear the news?”

An excited voice floated through the cell window. He ignored it, the changing of the guards usually brought nothing but childlike gossip. Closing his eyes, he stayed perfectly still, long legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankle. His hands were clasped in his lap.

“They are coming,” that same guard nearly shouted. “The Lords Thor and Loki!”

The prisoner’s eyes slit open like that of a reptile. 

“When?” asked the second guard and inside his cell, he cocked his head to the side, listening closely.

“By nightfall,” cried the first guard. His voice grew distant as the two walked further away from the cell but the prisoner did not miss the final words. “Rumor is, they have found a _stonekeeper_.”

The footsteps faded completely until the only thing left was the ever-present dripping.

“How interesting,” Ebony Maw mused quietly into the dark, his voice hoarse from disuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all didn’t really think I’d give Steve and Darcy their own adventure chapter early on in this story and not eventually give one to Bucky and Darcy, now did you? WELL, PREPARE THY TITS FOR IT IS COMING. Eventually. A few things gotta happen first, like… sexytimes. Also, I think we are almost reaching the half way point for this second arc... and the second half is gonna be, erm, intense. Good god, this story is huge. 
> 
> That being said, thank you to all my lovely readers, bookmarkers, kudoers, subscribers, commenters, and rebloggers. Some days I still pinch myself thinking, “Holy shit, people actually read my insane ramblings!” So, thanks!
> 
> Come say hello on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/)!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex. 2/3 of the sex.

He was taking them back to her room.

Darcy knew the path, had just walked it less than an hour earlier with him and Bucky. Now it was just Steve. Just Steve and his iron grip on her wrist, tugging her along like a man on a mission. Anticipation coiled tight in her belly, simmering to a steady boil under her skin. Her breaths slipped between parted lips shaky and uneven; it was all she could do to keep up with Steve’s swift, determined steps. 

Neither of them said a word.

At some point after they turned a corner, Darcy pulled to a stop and twisted her wrist in his grip so he wasn’t dragging her through the Compound like some caveman. Steve glanced down at their hands as she intertwined their fingers.

“Sorry,” he muttered quietly, brows pinching. “I got carried away.”

“Actually, I think you were trying to carry _me_ away, Muscles,” Darcy teased softly and a light pink dusted Steve’s cheeks at her comment. Squeezing his hand in reassurance, Darcy started walking again, keenly aware of the time. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

This time, they walked side by side.

By the time they reached her door, Darcy’s core was _throbbing_. Gulping, she stepped in front of Steve and unlocked it, every molecule in her body keenly aware of his larger body pressing in close to her back. She felt his chest brush against her as it rose and fell with his every breath.

She fumbled with the doorknob and managed to finally wrench it open. The instant she did, there were hands on her hips. Steve ushered them inside, kicking the door closed with his boot.

It shut with a _bang_.

And then silence encased them.

“FRIDAY, shut the blinds,” Steve’s voice was low and deep, taking on a husky quality that made everything in Darcy rise to attention. “Turn on privacy protocol sixty-nine.”

“ _Privacy protocol sixty-nine engaged._ ” FRIDAY responded and instantly the windows darkened, and a soft, warm yellow light illuminated the room.

Her heart was sprinting in her chest, her whole body buzzing and jittery, like she had downed four espresso shots, and yet Darcy still managed a breathy laugh. “Privacy protocol sixty-nine?”

“Tony’s idea of a joke.”

“It’s a good one,” Darcy grinned. Steve’s hands were slowly sliding up and down her sides, follow the dip and curve of her waist. She leaned back into him. His thumbs nearly touched the edges of her spine while his fingers counted her ribs.

Behind her, Steve bent and nosed her head to the side, kissing at a tender spot behind her ear. “Don’t encourage him.”

He molded himself to her back until she felt every hard line of his powerful body curling around her own. Lips moved down the side of her neck, his beard tickling the thin, sensitive skin along her throat. Darcy’s eyes rolled back in her head, eyelids sliding shut. She reached behind her and grabbed a fistful of Steve’s hair and he moaned against her neck. The vibration of it rushed through her body until warm, wet heat pooled between her thighs.

Darcy wiggled, shifting on her feet, embarrassingly wet, as he mouthed at a spot on her neck. Steve sucked until he left a mark and like a bolt of lightning, Darcy’s mind flashed to the image of the same kind of mark on Bucky’s neck this morning.

Apparently, Steve enjoyed staking his claim.

At that thought, her mouth fell open and she bit her lip, her entire body flooding with hot arousal until she flushed a pretty pink down to the top of her breasts.

“Steve…”

Slowly, he turned her around. She felt drunk and dizzy and the world was spinning and her clothes were too goddamn tight. A knuckle tucked under her chin, lifting her gaze upwards.

Darcy saw herself reflected in the blue of his eyes. 

“Color?” Steve asked tightly.

It took her a second and then she remembered the roof and his use of the color system—it seemed like a lifetime ago. And yet…

Darcy wet her lips, her voice almost a gasp. “Green.”

That was all that Steve needed to hear.

Roughly, his hands gripped beneath her thighs, hoisting her up against him. Darcy’s breath punched out of her chest in a soft grunt, legs wrapping around his waist for balance. She buried her fingers in his long hair, twisting handfuls of it. Spinning them, Steve let her back hit the wall with a soft _thump_ before he swooped in.

His kiss was slick and hot and nearly feral. A moan tore from Darcy’s throat as Steve slipped his tongue in her mouth, hands sliding up the length of her thighs to cup her ass. He squeezed both cheeks hard, fingers digging in with a pleasant sort of sting before coaxing her hips into motion, encouraging them to meet his own for a slow, firm roll.

He was impossibly hard between her legs and a rush of fire lit her from the inside, as if her whole body was made of combustible tinder. On the second roll, a little noise escaped against her lips, her hips jerked out of their own accord and Steve shuddered against her. 

“You make the sweetest sounds,” Steve whispered against her lips. “I could listen to you all day.”

Behind her, the wall was hard against her back and Steve held her as though she weighed nothing. A small part of Darcy’s brain could hardly believe this was even happening.

It was as though she was being tied to a stake, at his complete mercy, and Steve was the flame preparing to burn her alive. 

And she didn’t even give a damn. 

She _wanted_ to burn, wanted to be ruined by him.

Impatient, Darcy bit Steve’s bottom lip, _hard_ , and skimmed her fingertips down his torso to the waistband of his jeans. Boldly she dipped three fingers in and gave it two firm tugs, her message clear.

“Still green?” Steve tore his mouth from hers, voice rough with desire. Darcy clung to him, one arm looped around his neck, nodding jerkily. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, panting as his voice turned strained and thready. “Use your words, sweetheart. You know the rules. I’m not moving any further until I hear it from your mouth.”

“I—” her voice caught in her throat, dragging out in a dry rasp. She was shaking all over, wiggling her hips, searching for relief. But when Steve tightened his grip on her ass, holding her still and taking that option away, the boiling heat under her skin came to a surging rush, spilling over in a desperate shout. “ _Yes!_ _Please, please, please_. I’m green, I promise, _so_ green. Oh god,” her voice cracked, shattering into a thousand pieces. “Please just fuck me!”

Steve went still at those last four words, like someone had turned him to stone. And then his voice dropped into a tone resembling ice cream melting on a hot summer day. 

“Oh, _Darcy_ ,” her name was a gooey, sticky mess in his mouth, “you know I love it when you ask so nicely.”

Unable to stop himself, Steve turned his head and planted a hot, messy, open-mouthed kiss at the base of her throat. She shivered at the feel of his tongue lapping at her skin, her breasts tingling. And then he was lowering her, letting her drag deliciously down his front until she was back on her own two feet.

Steve kept his hands on her waist, so she didn’t topple over. Once she was steady, his eyes burned into hers and he took a single step back. Cool air washed over her burning skin and she stared at him, her brows pulling together. 

“Strip for me, sweetheart.”

Darcy’s nipples tightened, breasts becoming full and heavy at the command in his voice. She tried her best to hold his gaze as she reached for the elastic waistband of her leggings. Hitching her thumbs inside, Darcy rolled them over the flare of her hips and down the length of her thighs and calves before kicking them off, leaving her in just the long-sleeved shirt and her red silk thong.

The raw _want_ in Steve’s eyes as they roved over her bare legs stoked an inferno in Darcy. Desire was crackling deep inside her, like a wood burning stove. Her hands criss-crossed in front of her as she pulled off her shirt next, dark unruly curls falling over her bare shoulders, chest heaving in her black lace push-up.

For a long moment, Steve simply stared at her, drinking her in. Then—

“ _Jesus_.”

He surged forward.

Pressing her back into the wall again, Steve was a rubber band stretched too thin—his restraint completely _snapped_. He slanted his mouth over hers with a lustful, breathy groan, all teeth and tongue. Rough hands grabbed at her waist, her hips, her breasts, denting into her skin. With a twist of his fingers, her bra loosened. Mouths still locked together, Steve pulled the straps from her shoulders and her breasts dropped with a heavy bounce, finally free from the confines of the push-up.

Steve was swearing colorfully when he pulled back to look down at her chest before he bent and took a pebbled nipple in his mouth. Writhing against the wall, Darcy arched, pressing herself deeper into his hot, wet mouth, her fingers digging into his shoulders. One warm, calloused hand cupped her other breast, holding its considerable weight. His thumb rolled over her nipple, circling at the same time as his tongue and she twitched in response.

He released her with a pop and she shivered at the cool air hitting her wet flesh. Steve’s hands went back to her sides, trailing sensually up and down, his thumbs sweeping teasing little motions just under her breasts. Blue eyes watched rapturously at the goosebumps lifting on her skin. 

And then the world seemed to come to a complete stop. 

Careful hands took her right arm, lifting it from where Darcy had pinned it to her side. It was bare from any covering for the first time since she left the clinic, the blood red scars a stark contrast to her milky skin. The air in Darcy’s lungs locked tight and she had to fight to keep from tugging her arm out of Steve’s impossibly gentle hold. 

Bending at the waist, he began planting featherlight kisses along as many of the scars as he could, from her elbow up to her wrist, down her fingertips, until he nipped lightly at the pads of her fingers as he slipped them into his mouth. 

“You’re beautiful, Darcy,” Steve told her, something heartbreakingly honest in his voice. His gaze lifted as he lowered her arm back to her side and it was a physical weight. “So fucking beautiful it hurts. Every part of you.”

Blood rushed to the surface of her skin and Darcy felt like even the tips of her ears had turned bright red. Her lips twisted, eyes darting off to the side. There was nothing she could say in response to the searching, piercing, _loving_ look Steve was sending her way. But still, her mind raced, scrambling for _something_ —

_Crack!_

The side string of her thong snapped loudly at her hip and Darcy jolted, squeaking in surprise. Her eyes flew to Steve who merely plucked at it again, if only to watch the way her breasts bounced when she jumped.

“Ugh!” Darcy rolled her eyes but she was smiling and Steve was chuckling deeply, his eyes sparkling down at her.

He didn’t kiss her again, but simply stared at her, letting her see the naked desire in his eyes as he slid his hand agonizingly slow around to the small triangle covering her mons. Darcy’s hands flew to his biceps, clutching at him in anticipation. She had nowhere to turn with Steve crowding her more and more into the wall.

Without hesitation, the blond dipped his hand under the thin material and then straightened, releasing a trembling breath. Swallowing thickly, Steve rubbed thick fingers lightly over her clit before pushing one inside her. 

Choking back a moan, Darcy fell against him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so wet,” Steve groaned. “This for me?”

She nodded, eyes screwing shut, focusing on the feeling of his finger as he explored.

“ _I want to hear you say it._ ”

Inhaling sharply through her nose, Darcy’s eyes fluttered open. “Yes, for you. All for you.”

“Good girl,” Steve rumbled, his expression filled with all the male satisfaction the world could possibly contain. But something sparked to life deep inside Darcy at those two words—a bright, burning flare on a dark night, impossible to ignore.

Damp fingers suddenly slipped out from between her legs, leaving a slick trail up to her belly button. Steve leaned back and reached up between his shoulder blades, grabbing a fistful of his shirt before yanking it off. In another time, another place, Darcy would have been able to appreciate the goddamn Adonis before her like he fucking deserved, but as it was, time was running out. 

With that thought, she urgently reached for his jeans, unbuttoning then and was a little more careful with the zipper given Steve’s precarious state as she pulled it down.

Steve shucked off his jeans and Darcy’s brows lifted realizing that he had gone commando—that surprise lasted for about two seconds though after she caught sight of the hard cock jutting out from his hips. It bobbed, thick and veiny, curving upwards slightly and Darcy’s thighs clenched.

“It’s been a while for me,” she warned him suddenly, staring at the girth of it. Her mouth went dry, like a parched desert.

A hand cupped her jaw, big enough that his fingertips slid into her hair. Darcy’s eyelashes fluttered as she looked up. “Thank you for telling me that, sweetheart. It’s important and we’ll make sure you’re ready.”

Darcy pressed her lips together and shrugged lightly. Steve swooped down and gave her a peck on the lips—it almost felt like a reward. 

“You’re so good for me, Darcy,” Steve praised against her lips.

Squirming, unsure what to do with the way those words melted her insides, turning her into something soft and sweet—something that _wanted_ to be good for him, Darcy reached for the sides of her thong. 

Two large hands stopped her. 

Her eyes flashed up, blinking in confusion. Steve’s voice was pure sex as he knelt on the ground before her and tipped his head back to stare into her wide eyes. “Allow me.”

Hands ghosted over her hips, drawing fire in their wake. And then Steve slowly began to pull down her thong. 

It was all Darcy could do to not to rip out his hair when he leaned forward and pressed a lapping sort of kiss at the top of her moist slit. 

“ _Steve_ ,” she tightened her grip on his hair to the point that it must have hurt, but he seemed to like that given the deeply satisfied moan that answered. Her knees wobbled. “Steve, we don’t—”

Darcy’s voice cut off in a throaty cry as his hot tongue pushed between her pussy lips. Her hips bucked into his face unintentionally and Darcy yanked harder on his hair. 

Without warning, Steve pushed her knees apart. He pulled one leg over his shoulder and then the other. Darcy squeaked in surprise when her back slid up the cool wall as Steve precariously rose to his feet. Her head was less than a foot away from the ceiling, her thighs clamping around Steve’s neck, heart pounding, too surprised to even think about the fact that he was face to face with her spread pussy.

“Oh, my god, what are you—”

“Like I told you, we’re going to make sure you’re ready. You’ll need to be able to take three of my fingers or else it’ll hurt and before you can take three, I want you to come for me.” Steve informed her, taking in her panicked expression with a mischievous grin. “And I thought this might be a fun way to do it.”

“ _Holy_ _shit_ ,” she exhaled, eyes perfect circles. “Aren’t I—won’t you get tired?”

Steve very clearly gave her a look that said, ‘ _I’m a super soldier, sweetheart, what do you think?_ ’

Darcy swallowed, trying again. “What the fuck am I supposed to hold onto?!”

Something dark simmered in Steve’s eyes, “In case you haven’t noticed, I like hair pulling. My own or getting a handful of someone else’s.”

Her breath left her in short, shallow pants, words evading her completely. Steve stared up at her until she followed his suggestion and slowly threaded her fingers through his long blond locks. He nearly sighed in pleasure when she curled them into a loose fist.

“Good girl,” Steve told her, once again, turning his head to kiss the inside of her thigh.

Darcy’s hips bucked lightly, something about those fucking words burning through her chest, shooting straight to her core. She squeaked at the sheer height, but Steve’s hands were on her hips, steadying her. He grinned as if he was fully aware of the effect it had on her. 

And then he dipped his head in.

His tongue was hot against her clit and the sound Steve made as he tasted her was downright lewd. The vibration from his drawn out groan had Darcy’s toes curling tightly. Her hands naturally sunk deeper into Steve’s hair as he began sucking and licking his way along her slit.

One hand left her hips and a few seconds later Darcy felt Steve push a long finger into her core once more. She was wet enough that it entered easily and her head fell back against the wall at the feeling of something filling her—even if it wasn’t enough, wasn’t what she wanted. Her blood was buzzing, muscles in her thighs twitching as Steve gave her clit a long, hard suck. And then he flicked his tongue over it rapidly and added a second finger. 

Then he curled them and curled them and curled them and curled them all the while rhythmically working her clit. 

It was amazing, really, how fast the tingling began to gather in her belly as he worked her. Shamelessly, Darcy pressed herself further into Steve’s face, trusting his strength and using the wall behind her for leverage. 

He growled out some unintelligible approval, eating her out like a man starved.

Darcy’s writhed as Steve refused to stop curling his fingers against _that spot_ inside her that made her see stars and soon her pants became small mewls of pleasure. 

“S’close, s’close,” she was crying out, her voice sounding almost shocked, “please, _holy fucking shit—_ ”

Darcy’s fists twisted in Steve’s hair hard enough that she was sure she pulled some of it out as the orgasm hit her full force. And she nearly jerked away from the wall completely when Steve added a third finger before the wave began to even die down. It stung but the pain was mixed with pleasure as her body flushed with her climax. 

Steve became gentler now, no longer curling his fingers against that spot but pumping and twisting them smoothly, slowly. He backed away from her clit when she shoved his head away, too sensitive for direct attention on it. 

Darcy didn’t know what to think about the feeling of his slick beard against her inner thigh as he laved his tongue against the delicate skin there. Didn’t know what to think about the fact that him, soaking in her come, made her want to ride his three fingers like her life depended on it. 

Except they didn’t have time for that. 

“Steve, _ngh_ , I’m ready,” she very nearly begged, mild panic singing the edges of her words. When he slid his bright blue gaze up to her face and carefully scissored those three fingers into her core, Darcy bared her teeth at the delicious way it burned, suddenly desperate for something more than just fingers. 

“C’mon, Muscles, quit messing around. We don’t have all day. I thought you were going to _fuck_ me after all.”

Fingers wrenched out of her and his palm landed high on her outer thigh in a stinging, wet slap. She jolted, curling over the top of his head, hair falling in front of her face, mouth dropping open—to her surprise—in a wild, breathless grin. Pulling back, she let him see how much she liked that, feeling utterly debauched. 

Apparently, her taunt seemed to have the desired effect. 

Something downright wicked bled into Steve’s face, every muscle tightening as he slowly lowered her down from his shoulders. He still never let her touch the ground, winded her legs back around his trim waist before she got the chance. One hand grabbed at her jaw, popping her lips open. His thumb dipped inside, slipping between her teeth.

“Manners, sweetheart.” Steve’s brows lifted, his voice dark. “I expect you to use them.” 

Darcy nearly came undone at the near feral look in his eyes when she closed her lips around his thumb and _sucked_ in response.

Clucking his tongue at her, Steve shook his head, popping his thumb from her mouth. His voice turned soft and dangerous. “Alright, then. You want to be fucked? You want it hard and fast? Then let me hear the word, Darcy. One _pretty little word_ and if I don’t hear, then you’re getting nothing.”

Darcy tried, genuinely tried to hold back the near wail that threatened to tear loose from her chest but failed in less than two seconds. It slipped through her lips in a broken, pleading, wordless cry and she threw her head back, baring her thoroughly marked up neck. 

His palm clapped against her bare ass in a sharp crack and she yelped, jerking in his inescapable grip, banging into the wall behind her. 

“ _Please_ , Steve!” Darcy broke, the word throaty and needy all at once. “ _Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleas_ —”

Steve surged forward, slanting his mouth over hers. His dick slid deliciously between her soaking pussy lips while he sucked on her tongue for a long moment, relentless until Darcy relaxed again, going limp and soft. 

“See, it wasn’t that hard,” Steve told her as he pulled away, the gentle voice he was using sounding so goddamn dirty. “If you want me to fuck you, sweetheart, then that’s what you’re going to get. You just have to ask nicely. Color?”

“ _Green_ , you bastard!”

The first shriek was out of pure frustration, the second was because her ass stung under his palm for a third time. Never in her life would she have thought herself into any form of spanking but here she was, shocked, _utterly shocked_ at the arousal shooting through her, her whole body threatening to implode and the man still hadn’t even stuck his dick in her. 

Watching her untamed grin, Steve fought to keep the smile off his own lips. His eyes were sparkling.

“We’re really going to have to do something about that mouth at some point. Maybe next time I’ll just stuff it full. Would you like that?”

Her eyelids dropped to half mast at the mere thought of sucking Steve’s cock—she’d fucking _worship_ it.

Still, she managed to nod, biting her lip hard enough that the skin whitened around her teeth. 

One of Steve’s hands slid around her back to cup at the back of her head then, tangling in her curls. His body pressed her harder into the wall and she realized he had pillowed her head against his palm so she wouldn’t knock into the hard surface behind her. And for some reason, despite how utterly filthy they had been, that little thoughtful action set loose a horde of ferocious butterflies in her belly.

There was a warm feeling in her chest, cracking open to a blinding kind of light, different from the searing want, and Darcy embraced it, letting it fill her eyes with something vulnerable and sweet and soft. 

It was love, she realized.

Her cheeks flushed delicately and Steve’s observant gaze caught the change. For a moment, his expression gentled. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to hers and they both closed their eyes, breathing it in, the new, budding thing between them. Steve exhaled loudly, a little shakily.

“Put me where you want me, Darcy,” he instructed quietly. Her eyes popped open and his lips curved in an almost drunken way. “You begged to touch me that night, so here’s your chance.”

Her skin flushed at the challenge, desire taking over once more. Boldly, Darcy held Steve’s gaze and trailed her fingers over the muscles in his abdomen, enjoying the way they contracted at her touch. Then she reached between them and took hold of his thick cock, positioning him right where she wanted him.

And _oh god_ , did she want him. More than she had ever wanted anything in this entire world.

She was shaking like a leaf when she felt the blunt head of his cock nudge at the edges of her pussy. Then slowly, carefully, he slid inside. One careful, shallow thrust. A second. A third that was deeper and fucking hell he was _huge_.

“Breathe,” Steve commanded in a near growl and she gasped, filling her empty, screaming lungs.

By the sixth, he was at the hilt and stilled, letting her adjust. Her eyes nearly crossed from the pleasure of it.

And the moment he felt her relax around him, Steve began to _fuck_ her.

Darcy had to bite her lip, nearly drawing blood, to hold back her shout. His hand was unyielding, fingers digging into the globe of her ass, white knuckled and hard enough to bruise. He wasn’t as gentle with her, didn’t treat her delicately; he moved forcefully and steadily, his hips pushing her steadily inch by inch up the wall as he plowed into her.

She was suddenly beyond grateful for the barrier his hand provided between her head and the wall.

Darcy dug her heels into his ass and strained against him. “Oh god, oh god, St _eve_ —please. _More_ —harder, please, please, please. S’good.”

At first, she refused to believe the noises she heard in the room were hers—the pitiful needy moans or the cries—but when Steve held her easily in the air and withdrew completely to hitch her legs higher, resting her knees in the crook of his elbows, she was horrified to hear a keening wail escape her lips in response. 

He chuckled in amusement for a moment but wasn’t as immune as he pretended to be. 

Steve’s breathing came hard and labored, and as he buried his cock in her once more to the hilt, he let loose a groan that ended in a soft curse. At this new angle, Darcy was completely immobilized, the edges of her vision turning white. The room echoed with a rhythmic wet _smack, smack, smack_ and their harried breathing. Soon, Steve’s arms were shaking but not from exhaustion.

Darcy was close, so fucking close and his entire body was near trembling. Steve bent his head to her ear and took her earlobe in between his teeth, tugging on it before breathing against her skin as he fucked into her with hard, rolling strokes. “C’mon, sweetheart—you feel so goddamn good. You’re being such a good girl for me, you know. Taking me so deep. Just a little more, give it t’me. C’mon, Darcy, c’mon. _FUCK!_ ”

It started in her toes.

She fluttered for a moment and then the climax hit her with the power of a sledgehammer, nearly tearing her in half. Racing up her legs, her thighs shook violently—like she had been tasered—locking around Steve like steel bands, shoving his cock even deeper inside her. It flooded out of her in a slick rush and she clamped down on Steve with a ragged sob, nails raking down his back viciously, tearing his skin.

Arching as she scratched at him, hard enough to draw blood, Steve hissed into her open mouth and came a minute later with a curse. His hips stuttered from their punishing pace to lazy, shallow thrusts, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop. 

Darcy tried to remember how to breathe as she went momentarily limp in Steve’s arms, trusting him entirely to not let her tumble to the ground. Steve held her against the door and ran his hands up and down her sides, his touch suddenly tender once more. Hot, wet lips pressed firmly against her temple in a lingering kiss. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” His breath tickled her scalp, shifting strands of her hair.

Silence. Then—

“You killed me.”

Steve huffed out a tired laugh. “Was it a good death at least?”

“I mean, if that’s the last time I ever get to have sex on earth, then I can die a happy woman,” Darcy hummed contentedly. Leaning back, she tilted her head up and slid her fingers through Steve’s blond locks, pushing them back from his face. Something unfathomable flashed through his eyes and she imagined it had to do with her words, the reminder that the clock was ticking. Not just for the spell but for everything. War. The stone. Her own life.

Her throat tightened.

“I should’ve taken you to the bed,” Steve mumbled suddenly, looking very upset. “ _God_ , sweetheart. I’m _so_ sorry. I just—”

“Stop that,” Darcy said sharply, smacked his chest. “I’ve never had sex against a wall, so, even though the bed would’ve been nice, _this_ was something else. And…” Darcy’s voice turned quiet here and she was very aware that he was still half hard inside her, even as the chill from the room settled over her damp skin. “It doesn’t matter where for me. It’s you that matters. It’s you that I want.”

Her palm rested flat over his heart and Steve’s brows pulled together, lifting in the middle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Darcy assured him, pressing a sweet kiss where her palm had just been.

Steve adjusted his grip on her hips so he could carry her to the bed, still buried inside her, determined, apparently, to at least make it there, even for some snuggle time (she remembered how he turned into a human barnacle the last time they had messed around).

“How much time do we have?” Steve carefully settled them onto the mattress and arranged her against his chest.

Squinting, Darcy glanced at the clock.

“About twelve minutes,” she propped herself up on her forearms, peering down at him with a sly grin. Her hair was a dark curtain around his gorgeous face. “Why? You wondering if that super soldier recovery time will give us another go?”

He raised a brow.

“How do you know about that?”

“Lucky guess,” Darcy snickered, her limbs loose and heavy all at once. She was going to be sore as hell later, but it was worth every second. And then a thought struck her.

If it was like _this_ with Steve (the best she had ever had by far—so much so that it was _stupid_ even trying to compare) … she might literally die when Bucky joined them.

“What are you thinking right now? What’s that look on your face?”

Going still above him, Darcy sucked on her teeth. Her heart thudded hard in her chest as she considered her words. “Just… that when Bucky joins, we might need to invest in a life insurance policy on me. I won’t survive both of you.”

She tried to turn it into a joke but everything in Steve’s face seemed to sharpen to a point. And then he grinned, eyes bright and hopeful. “ _When_ Bucky joins, not if?”

Darcy blinked. 

She sat up, palms flat on his abs, and subsequently made a face as Steve shifted deeper inside of her, twitching slightly. Her brows pulled together, low over her eyes. “Did I say that?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Steve nodded, looking happy as a clam. “You did.”

“Huh.” She flicked her gaze off to the side. “How Freudian of me, I guess.” When she looked back down at Steve, she caught him watching her with a soft, unguarded gaze. Her cheeks warmed. “What?”

“Nothing, just…” Steve stopped and drew his bottom lip between his teeth. His hand lifted from its place on her waist to cup her breast and play, almost absently, with her nipple. “I love you. _Christ_ , I love you.”

The honesty in his voice pierced her heart, harpooning it and drawing her back down flat against his chest. The skin against skin contact was soothing (maybe Steve had something going with this whole intense cuddling obsession). His big arms winded around her, pinning her in place. She couldn’t pull back very far and she guessed that was Steve’s plan all along from the small smirk on his lips.

Rolling her eyes, Darcy still couldn’t help but smile when he tucked her head under his chin, bright and blinding and true. Her heart felt lighter than it had in days. She scrunched her nose, teasing and petting the light dusting of blond hair on his chest, “Anyone every tell you that you’re a little bit clingy, Muscles?”

A beat of silence.

“I think Bucky called it ‘pummeling people with aggressive affection’ earlier this morning,” Steve drawled with no small amount of sass. He then rolled his hips lightly, shifting himself inside her, and Darcy stiffened. Steve grinned, slow and filthy. “Feeling pummeled yet?”

“ _So_ pummeled _._ ”

* * *

Darcy banned Steve from her shower.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him not to keep his hands to himself (deep down she knew that Steve would rather have his hand sliced off before touching her without express permission—even if his color demands were at times infuriating). The problem was that _she_ couldn’t be trusted. If he joined, Darcy knew she would end up jumping his bones.

The water was cool against her sweaty skin. She didn’t have time for much more than a quick scrub and a careful clean down below. When she got out, she found that Steve had snuck in a change of fresh clothes and laid them out for her on the counter.

Darcy broke out into a goofy, lovesick grin and toweled off swiftly.

Once she was dressed, she carefully opened the door and peeked her dark head out of it. Steve was sitting on her bed, dressed once more, waiting for her. His eyes flashed up; they were very blue.

“Thank you for the clothes,” Darcy murmured, feeling oddly shy given all that they had just done.

The crinkle at the corners of Steve’s eyes spread out line a fan. He uncurled his body and slowly walked over, taking her hand in his and intertwining their fingers. His other hand gripped the back of her neck before he planted a kiss on top of her hair. Steve breathed out, “You ready?”

Silently, Darcy nodded. 

“FRIDAY,” Steve swallowed, wetting his lips, “disable privacy protocol sixty-nine.”

A second later came the reply, “ _Disabled_.”

Steve’s fingered tightened around Darcy’s. “Can you tell us where Loki is?”

“ _He is located in the Commons eating lunch with Doctor Foster and Point Break._ ”

He glanced down at her, lifting his brows in silent question. Darcy merely started for the door, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason.

The walk to the Commons was far too short for Darcy’s taste. But just before they turned the final corner, Steve pulled her to a sudden stop. 

Frowning, Darcy turned to look at him. “Steve?”

He used their connected hands to tug her into his chest until she collided with a soft _oomph_ and then his lips were on hers, desperate and pleading. It lasted a few seconds before he growled out against her mouth, “I hate this.”

Darcy kept her one hand in his but placed her other flat against his chest, pushing him back slightly.

“The spell?” She asked. Steve’s jaw ticked, a deep frown on his lips as he nodded firmly. Darcy just shook her head. “It isn’t even in effect yet.”

“I still hate it.”

“Because it’s Loki or because you won’t be able to touch me?”

Steve took a few seconds before admitting, “Both of those in part, but not the whole.”

“What’s the rest?” Darcy asked and he just shook his head, dragging his free hand through his beautiful blond hair.

“It’ll cause a fight and I don’t want to fight with you, not right now, not after we…” Steve trailed off and his throat bobbed as he searched for the words. “We’ll talk about it another time. When things aren’t like they are now. I just—I want you to know that I’m going to try my best to support you, like you asked. But this is difficult for me and I might struggle with it.”

Darcy’s eyes dropped to the ground and her lips twisted. There was a part of her that understood and yet didn’t quite see it the way he did. But she appreciated his honesty. Releasing his hand, she wrapped her arms around his middle, resting her cheek against his firm chest. He naturally hugged her back.

Her heart swelled up into her mouth and spilled itself off her tongue. “I love you, Steve.”

His arms tightened around her; she felt his wide chest expand as he inhaled. “I know you need to go say goodbye to Thor before he leaves and I want to give you that time but… come find me when Loki’s done? Please?”

“Of course,” Darcy nodded right away and then pulled back. 

Steve took her hand again and walked her up to the Commons. Inside, the afternoon sun was shining brightly through the large floor to ceiling windows. Steve kissed her one last time at the threshold, a soft, sweet thing. 

Parting, Steve’s thumb brushed down her cheek. 

And then he was gone.

Darcy watched Steve go back down the hallway, his movements stiff, fists clenched at his sides, and her heart twisted in her chest. She sucked in a bracing lungful of air and smoothed a nervous hand over her hair.

Stepping into the Commons, Darcy found three familiar faces sitting at the dining table. It didn’t go past her notice that it had been set for four.

Their conversation came to a halt as she entered and Darcy tried her absolute hardest to act like she hadn’t just been fucked within an inch of her life as she grinned widely and waved with a wiggle of her fingers.

“Hi guys,” her voice was higher pitched than usual, the words rushing from her mouth. “What’s for lunch? Who cooked? Wait, please don’t tell me it was Jane—if it is, we should call poison control.”

Jane scoffed, “I can cook.”

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed as she hurried over to the table, studiously ignoring both gods open and silent perusal as she slunk into the open seat. “You make a mean bag of chips. But remember what happened the time you tried to boil an egg? It _exploded_. I thought a gun had gone off.”

“I just forgot to set a timer.”

“And it exploded.”

Jane grinned then, shrugging, “The bits still tasted good.”

“I am ignoring the fact that you picked through the exploded egg and still ate it,” Darcy informed her seriously with a disturbed glance.

“I assure you that Jane had no hand in this meal,” Thor spoke up suddenly. “You are quite safe.”

When Darcy managed to meet his gaze, there were too many emotions swirling in his eyes to name individually. It was obvious that he knew where she had just come from and Darcy didn’t doubt that it was due to the fact that he was, in fact, a god. 

Even though Thor was trying his hardest to be polite, Darcy’s face heated.

She flicked her eyes down to her empty plate. “Oh, good.”

They fell quiet after that. Thor stood from his seat and dished her out a pile of spaghetti and meatballs (one of the few Midgardian dishes he had learned how to make during his first arrival). Smiling in thanks, she snagged a large piece of garlic bread and stuffed half of it in her mouth out of sheer nerves.

Of course, it was only when her cheeks were bulging obscenely that Darcy made the mistake of looking at Loki. The raven-haired god was staring right at her, his expression sly and, well, full of mischief for lack of a better word. He held her gaze and sat back in his chair, setting down his sauce covered fork. Delicate dark brows arched, and his lips curved in a way that clearly said, ‘ _I see that you enjoyed yourself_.’

It was Jane, however, who finally said aloud, “Wow, Darcy, that’s quite the love bite.”

Freezing mid chew, Darcy slowly turned to Jane. Her best friend pointed to the base of her neck, dipping her head to inspect it closer as she lifted both brows. 

“Did it hurt?”

Panic surged through her veins and Darcy chewed more vigorously, trying to break down the bread fast enough to say something as all three seemed to take the moment to observe the hickey. 

“He must have been rather ardent,” Loki murmured next, sipping from his water glass like a king drinking from a crystal chalice. “Clumsy though, I myself enjoy leaving them where no one can see except for my lover. As a reminder for them.”

Darcy deeply regretted taking such a big bite.

Across from her, Thor set down his silverware with a deep sigh. The God of Thunder looked for all the world like an exasperated parent. “Loki, can we _not_ speak about your conquests for one family meal? Just one?”

“Hmm,” Loki hummed and then answered flatly, “No.”

“Why must you insist on always doing this?”

“It’s educational,” the raven-haired god reasoned with mirth. “After all, I have _thousands_ of years of experience.”

“As do I,” Thor reminded him. “And yet you do not hear me turning it into a family discussion.”

“Yes, but your tastes are rather _boring_ and thus not interesting enough for discussion. While I’ve always been fond of experimentation.”

The two brothers continued to bicker back and forth, like discussing sexual deviances at the dinner table was something they had argued over for centuries. Finally, at long last, Darcy managed to get the last lump of garlic bread down her throat when Jane all but climbed into her chair, asking in a loud whisper—

“So, which one was it?”

Darcy groaned loudly, burying her face in both of her hands. She mumbled through her fingers, “Jane, as my boss, I believe that question breaches corporate protocol.”

“I belong to no corporation,” the tiny astrophysicist gasped as though the accusation of such was deeply offending.

Running with that, Darcy called upon every ounce of redirecting skills that she possessed. “Are you sure, Janey?” She cast her friend a doubtful squint and Jane straightened with a frown. “Because you seem pretty at home with Stark Industries.”

“How _dare_ you,” her voice shot up with enough vehemence that both gods stopped their back and forth. Narrowing her eyes into dangerous little slits, Jane crossed her arms over her chest. “I would never.”

“Thor, you better be careful,” Darcy grinned, slanting a look at the blond god. “Janey here is in danger of being swept off her feet by Tony’s shiny things. She told me so herself in the labs.”

“I do not fear the man of iron,” Thor informed them all with a teasing glint twinkling in his eyes. “My ‘things’ may not be as shiny but they keep her more than satisfied.”

To Darcy’s left, Jane grinned naughtily, “Yes, they do.”

Loki rolled his eyes to the ceiling in a great show of drama at the same time Darcy blurted out—

“Okay, we are _changing_ the subject. No more sex-talk. That goes for all of us.”

The silence that followed her declaration had Darcy inhaling more garlic bread. She had gotten halfway through her plate of spaghetti before commenting lightly to Thor that he had done a good job on the sauce, to which he utterly beamed with pride… much to Loki’s disgust. And yet the raven-haired god still finished two helpings.

“When are you leaving?” Darcy spoke up after swallowing down a mouthful of water.

The question shifted the air in the room to something tight and uncomfortable. 

Thor inhaled, his voice quiet. “After we are done here.”

Darcy went still, lips parting in surprise.

“So soon? When will you be back?”

She caught the heavy glance Thor gave Jane and then Darcy straightened in her seat, every muscle pulling tight. She twisted around to her boss and best friend, pulse jumping in her throat. “Wait—Jane, are you going with them?”

There was a long moment of quiet.

And then Jane looked at her, corners of her mouths tipping upwards in more of a wince than a smile. She nodded gently.

Darcy fell back against her chair, all the air in her lungs leaving her. For some reason, it hadn’t quite hit her that she was going to have to say goodbye and that it might be the last goodbye she got with them—if things went wrong (and they could, _oh_ , they could go _very_ wrong). 

“ _All_ of you are leaving?” She found herself asking again, though she knew the answer.

“There is a place we need to visit before we reach my people. It is important that Jane joins us and,” Thor paused, pain and something akin to fear bleeding into his expression. His eyes flashed to Darcy’s, willing her to understand. “I do not wish to part from her side. Not when war is coming.”

 _Not when I’ve just gotten her back_ , was the unspoken explanation.

Despite it all, Darcy understood. She met Thor’s sad gaze, seeing the old grief that had carved out a home in his soul for far too long. She told him, with her eyes, all the things she would never be able to voice.

They had been through hell together, the two of them. A certain kind of hell that bonded souls to one another in understanding that went beyond words.

“Okay,” Darcy nodded slowly. She wet her lips and looked down to her half-eaten spaghetti, appetite suddenly gone. Her fork made a soft _clink_ as she rested it on the plate. “I guess then, there’s a good chance I’ll be gone with Bucky by the time you all get back?”

“Aye,” Thor answered in a deep rumble. “Loki has made us aware of what he offered you. My mother’s spell has rarely been used. Be cautious, Darcy.”

“Thor—”

“I have something for you also.” He cut her off, his voice suddenly gruff. “Due to the nature of the spell and it’s restrictions, I have made more _Eirflower_ tonic to help prevent your muscle cramping. I have left enough with Bruce to provide you with a daily dose for the next two weeks. He will expect you at the clinic every morning and will be sure to provide James with the doses and instructions when you leave.”

Darcy’s brows raced to her hairline as she remembered the Asgardian medicine. Touched, she offered the God of Thunder a soft smile, “Thank you, Thor. But… can’t I just take it myself?”

“It can be addictive,” Thor explained with a firm shake of his head. “It is smarter to have such a thing in another’s hands.”

During this, Loki had been staring hard at the table. And then he turned to his brother, incredulous, “ _Eirflower_ tonic?”

The question was asked in such a way that it gave Darcy pause. Especially from the way that Thor stiffened, the shutters behind his eyes slamming shut. He did not look at his brother as he answered, his voice toneless.

“She is worthy of it just as she is worthy of mother’s spell.”

At that, Loki had nothing to say.

They finished their meal in silence, though Darcy spent most of the time pushing around the remainder of her spaghetti with her fork. And then, all at once, Thor declared that it was time.

Darcy had no warning for the way that Jane nearly tackled her out of her seat.

Shrieking as her chair scraped across the floor under the force of Jane’s tiny but surprisingly strong attack, Darcy thankfully managed to stop the momentum before they completely toppled over.

“Jane,” Darcy wheezed out as the astrophysicist nearly squashed her insides with the might of her hug. Patting her head, Darcy continued, “I’m trying _not_ to die these days.”

“I don’t want to leave you behind. I don’t like it.” Jane’s voice was muffled in Darcy’s shoulder and the brunette didn’t miss the way it shook slightly.

Her heart clenched and she blinked rapidly, eyes drifting to the ceiling as her pats transformed into soothing rubs. “Me neither. Let’s just run away and kill Thanos ourselves.”

“Deal,” Jane sniffed. “I’ll saw off his head and put it on a pike to parade around the country. It’ll be great.”

A beat of silence.

“You really are a terrifying little person.”

“Thank you,” Jane lit up at that, like it was the world’s greatest compliment. 

A laugh began to bubble up in Darcy’s chest and she couldn’t help the unladylike snort that escaped. Soon, Jane was laughing as well and untangling herself from Darcy. They both stood to their feet and Darcy hugged Jane once more, much gentler than the other woman had been.

“Love you, Janey,” she whispered in her hair. “Be safe.”

“You, too,” Jane whispered back and then even quieter—“ _Really, which one was it?_ Because I think it was Captain America. If it wasn’t then we need to talk. The other one is an asshole, please don’t tell me you had sex with the asshole.”

Darcy pulled away and grinned, keeping her voice low.

“How about this, when you come back, I’ll tell you all about it. Every goddamn detail that you would never want to know.”

“Now _that_ sounds promising.” 

Over Jane’s shoulder, Darcy caught Thor watching the two of them with a fond look. He met her eyes and Darcy couldn’t stop herself.

Removing herself from Jane’s grip, she slowly walked over, her feet taking her directly to the god until she had to crane her neck back to be able to still hold his gaze. For the longest time, they just stared at one another. Neither of them said a word and that was okay. Instead, Thor merely bent at the waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead for a very long time. There was a moment that Darcy could have sworn he whispered some sort of prayer to an ancient god, even more ancient than himself.

And then Thor pulled back; his eyes were very bright. 

Darcy squeezed his large hand with both of hers, her brows pulling together in the middle. A hot lump swelled at the base of her throat, quickly filling, and before it could overflow, Darcy released her grip on Thor and turned towards the window.

Loki stood with his back to them all, waiting, a dark silhouette against the light. His hands were clasped behind his straight back and Darcy thought he looked like someone out of a Jane Austen novel. There was just something refined about the god. 

That’s what made his moments of madness so much more terrifying.

Inwardly bracing herself, Darcy slowly approached. He didn’t turn to look at her as she reached his side and she chose to copy his stature, staring instead out the window.

“Are you ready?”

Her stomach clenched.

“Yes.”

Loki turned then, his expression serious. An otherworldly green light danced in his eyes, undulating like the aurora borealis on a crisp winter night. For a long time, he just looked at her with that piercing gaze. 

And then he lifted his hand.

Darcy stared at his open palm, everything else in the world falling away. 

Loki was patient, perfectly still as he waited for her to take it and when she finally lifted her hand, her fingers trembled. Gulping, Darcy held her breath, preparing for… well, she didn’t know what for but when she placed her palm in Loki’s grip, nothing happened.

Nothing happened and Darcy frowned, brows pinching, her eyes darting up to meet the God of Mischief’s. And then he grinned, sharp and cunning, and a blast of wind rushed through her body.

Rocking back on her heels, Darcy gasped aloud, but Loki held strong, his eyes absolutely glowing. Her skin tingled, like her whole entire body had fallen asleep—it was pins and needles everywhere.

And then, as quickly as it came, it was gone.

Loki quickly retracted his hand, taking a precautionary step back. His emerald eyes dimmed as they flicked over her face, searching.

“Is that it?” Darcy asked, finding it odd that outside of those brief moments, she felt… normal.

“The most dangerous magic is the kind you aren’t even aware is present.” Loki told her in a silky voice. 

She shivered at that thought. “Creepy.”

“Quite.” He agreed with a tight smile and then lowered his voice, “Be on your guard, stonekeeper. This spell cannot tell friend from foe.”

* * *

The inside of their room had become a weapons factory.

Bucky was sitting on the ground, his back against the bed, taking apart a long sniper rifle. A stained rag was tossed over his shoulder and beside him were cleaning products, oil, a wetting stone, an array of different knives, and three additional handguns (one, Steve noted, had a silencer attachment). The dark-haired man cleaned the rifle with startling efficiency, his left arm gleaming in the overhead light.

Carefully, Steve closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, both hands still gripping the doorknob. Bucky’s eyes flicked up as he continued to work, clear and so gray.

“Hey,” Steve called, his voice soft.

“Hey yourself,” Bucky answered easily, going back to his rifle. After a moment he glanced up once more. “You alright?”

“Mhm.”

Bucky looked at him closer and then set aside the rifle. A secret sort of smile unfurled on his lips. “Lookin’ awful dopey there, Steven.”

The blond didn’t even try to deny it. Bucky was right, he was stupid over Darcy and the last hour had just cemented it even further in his mind, if that were possible. He felt almost drunk, even though he hadn’t been able to get even remotely tipsy in years.

“Darcy okay?”

Steve snapped back to himself, dragging his mind away from the image of her wide, uninhibited gap-toothed smile as she lay atop him, still intimately connected. Across the room, there was something in Bucky’s question that gave Steve pause. 

“Yeah, she’s good,” he answered quietly. “She’s with Thor now and… and she’ll stop by—after.” He didn’t need to explain what ‘ _after’_ was. They both knew.

Bucky grunted and picked the rifle back up.

“Are _you_ okay?” Steve asked, walking through the minefield of weapons. There was no space for him on the ground beside Bucky, so Steve hopped up onto the bed behind him, bouncing lightly. He placed both of his long legs on either side of Bucky and started kneading at the other man’s tense neck and shoulders.

Bucky’s hands stilled on the rifle. “’M’fine,” he mumbled out and then groaned lightly when a thumb rubbed against a hard knot on his shoulder blade, making it shift and roll under his skin. “Shit, right there, punk.”

Silently, Steve continued working the muscles on Bucky’s shoulders until the brunette set the rifle aside once more and sighed deeply, letting his head fall back into Steve’s lap. Dark hair spilled over Steve’s jean clad thighs. Staring at him upside down, Bucky’s throat worked.

“You took good care of her?” 

The concern lacing Bucky’s question had Steve leaning forward, planting a kiss on his lips. It was slightly awkward in the position, but Bucky responded with enthusiasm.

“Of course,” Steve eventually pulled back, straightening once more. He combed his fingers through Bucky’s long hair, trying to be gentle where it tangled. “I didn’t get as much time as I would have liked with her after though. I want to check on her later, make sure… everything’s good.”

“Smart,” Bucky agreed with a nod.

A pause.

“She talked about you.”

In his lap, Bucky went still. “What did she say?”

Steve thought back to Darcy’s admission about what would happen when it was all three of them in the bedroom—what it would do to her to have them both. It burned something deep inside of Steve, blistering it until he could think of nothing else, want nothing else but them.

“Just know that she talked about you, jerk,” Steve grinned down at him. He wanted—needed both of them to come to the conclusion on their own, apart from his influence and desire and what Darcy told him felt private, at least until she was ready to say it on her own to Bucky’s face.

As if he read Steve’s mind, Bucky cleared his throat.

“I do want her, you know. I want this.” Bucky was staring up at Steve; his eyes were very bright. “Just…”

Steve’s brows pulled together.

“Just what?”

“She fell in love with _you_ , Steve,” the brunette pulled the words out of his throat, they grated past his clenched teeth like sandpaper along a rough piece of wood. He lifted his head so Steve could only see the back of it, not the expression on his face. “She fell in love with you because you’re _good_. She doesn’t know me—not all of me. I’m not like you. And I think she knows that.”

Steve’s heart clenched into a tight fist in his chest, twisting in sharp pain. His throat tightened and he cupped the sides of Bucky’s head, curling at the waist to press his lips against the back of his head.

“You’re good, too, Bucky,” Steve whispered in a thick, wet voice. “You’re not what they tried to make you into and what happened to you doesn’t define you. You’re James Buchanan Barnes, a war hero, a kind and selfless man, a loyal friend with a big fuckin’ heart, someone who has faced evil and lived, and you are the person I’ll spend the rest of my life learning how to love.”

When Bucky didn’t respond, didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge his words, Steve inhaled deeply.

“When you told Darcy earlier that it was me being vulnerable that you were worried about when it comes to bringing someone else in, was that true? Or did you mean yourself? That you’re worried about letting someone in who might hurt you?”

Bucky tensed defensively and Steve waited, fully aware that he had struck a little too close to home. 

A hand flashed up behind him with incredible speed, slapping the side of Steve’s head lightly before the blond even registered Bucky had moved. Next came a very grumpy sounding, “Quit psychoanalyzin’ me.”

Bucky jerked away, reaching for the rifle once again.

“You should talk to her about it,” Steve ignored the grouchy demeanor of the other man, far too used to his moods and covers by now. “And about the bullshit deal she made with Loki. She didn’t mean it how you think.”

“Didn’t she?” Bucky asked tightly.

“Like I said, talk to her,” Steve encouraged and then patted the side of his neck twice and carefully maneuvered himself off the bed. “I need to wash up.” 

He headed towards the bathroom, tugging his shirt off as he went. The cool air lifted goosebumps along his back and—

“ _Damn_.”

Steve whirled around, lifting his brows at Bucky in question. The brunette had a look of total surprise as he gestured to Steve’s back. “Go look in the mirror, punk.”

With a frown, Steve hurried into the bathroom, twisting his torso to try and see what Bucky— _Oh_. 

“She marked you good.” Bucky appeared in the doorway, impressed as he examined the bloody lines Darcy’s nails had raked across Steve’s otherwise flawless skin. “They’re still closing up, too.”

Slowly, Steve could see his skin mending, the serum working to repair the scratches. For some reason, seeing the physical evidence of what he and Darcy had done, knowing that she had left a mark on him stirred a deep, satisfying kind of heat in his lower stomach.

His cock twitched.

“Mm,” Steve hummed deeply, unable to take his eyes away from the dried blood. God, he felt like a fucking _deviant_. “Yeah, well…”

“I take it from that look on your face that you weren’t exactly gentle either.”

Their eyes met in the mirror. Bucky’s arms were crossed over his chest, a small smirk gracing his lips. 

_I should’ve taken you to the bed,_ Steve had told her.

Steve shook his head, gathering his errant thoughts. “She makes me go a little crazy. I was gentler with her than I am when I’m with you. But, still, she… You’ll understand at some point.”

Bucky stared at him for a long time, saying nothing, his face unreadable. Then he nodded his chin towards the shower. “Wash up. I’ve got a lot of prep to do.”

“Where are you planning to take her?” Steve asked, moving to the shower and flipping on the hot spray. He glanced over his shoulder when Bucky didn’t answer right away. 

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out,” Bucky finally told him. 

Steve would have rolled his eyes if it weren’t for the fact that he was more than aware that Bucky could disappear from him entirely if he wanted to. It deeply frightened Steve, even though he knew Bucky wouldn’t ever leave him, the fact that they had been ripped apart more than once unsettled him and the possibility of it ever happening again was… unimaginable.

And now, there was Darcy in the mix.

“Buck, listen,” Steve started suddenly. “Be careful with Darcy. No—don’t look at me like that, that’s not what I meant. What I’m saying is, don’t underestimate her when you two leave. If there’s trouble, she’ll find it like a bee to honey.”

Amused at the idea, Bucky snorted. “So she’s like me, then?”

“No,” Steve slowly shook his head. The bathroom began to fill with steam. He thought back to the first time she really registered on his radar, standing in front of the team, half of her face covered in a handprint of blood and then later begging them to let her go on a dangerous mission by herself. The words were slow and wary as they left his tongue, “She’s like me before the serum… and probably after it, too.”

A long moment of silence. Then—

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake,” Bucky swore violently, pushing off the doorframe with his shoulders, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m doomed. _Doomed_.” 

He wandered into the other room, ranting in a low mutter about stupid punks and their stupid lack of self-preservation skills.

Steve watched him go, unsuccessfully holding back a snicker. “Sorry?”

“Sorry my _ass!_ Prove it by having some goddamn motherfucking common sense! Is that too much to ask? Is it?! Now I’ve got _two_ of you sons of bitches to keep alive and I—”

Bucky continued ranting even as Steve burst into laughter. In fact, the brunette’s swears only became more colorful and verbose when Steve continued laughing under the hot spray of the shower.

* * *

Darcy stood at the edge of the grass just outside the Compound for a long time after Thor vanished in a flash of blinding rainbow colored light with Loki and Jane in tow. Her chest ached; a part of her heart feeling like it had been sucked through the BiFrost as Thor called it down using Stormbreaker. She wrapped her arms around her middle and watched the sky, clear and bright with a dusting of white, fluffy clouds. An odd sort of detachment came over her. 

Only half a day had passed since she was debating on what lingerie to wear this morning (which, by the way, paid off). So many things had changed, so many things were changing. And yet, outside in the sunlight everything was so calm and peaceful—she never would have guessed that the world was at war.

It was only when her skin started to feel like it was burning under the bright summer sun that Darcy turned and went inside. As she did, her eyes caught, briefly, on the green clearing near the tree line. Steps stuttering, Darcy frowned at the now empty space.

Back inside the Commons in the kitchen, Tony was hovering over the leftover garlic bread sitting on the stovetop, piling a few pieces onto a plate.

Dark eyes flashed up, locking on her. 

“They’re gone—Thor, Jane and Loki,” Darcy said and Tony nodded, his mouth tightening. She jerked her thumb behind her. “I noticed the Skrulls ship is gone, too.”

“Yeah, they left with Clint and Natasha a while ago.”

The ache in her chest grew, like roots of a bitter tree spreading. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

There was a long pause. Then—

“Well, you were busy, I believe.”

Darcy blushed and Tony eyed her curiously as he took a bite of garlic bread. Some of the crumbs stuck around the corner of his mouth. Ripping off a nearby paper towel, Tony wiped them away, still watching her. Shifting on her feet under his heavy gaze, Darcy noticed that the table still had plenty of dishes from lunch. She walked over to begin clearing it just for something to do.

Stacking plates and silverware, Darcy jumped back in surprise when Tony suddenly appeared at her side to help gather the water glasses. Stumbling back, she put a solid three feet between the two of them, her face pale, pulsing jumping in her throat.

Tony cocked an eyebrow in response. “When did I become the boogeyman?”

“I can’t—you can’t come near like that.” Darcy tried and then made a face. “Loki and I made a deal and he put this spell on me to keep me safe. It’s like a shield, no one can touch me or else they’ll die. It doesn’t matter who they are.”

For a long time, Tony said nothing. Then—

“Why did you agree to it?”

There was no disappointment in his voice, just genuine question.

“Because,” Darcy started, her tone strained and then stopped and cleared her throat. Firmer, she opened her mouth—“Because I think we could use every advantage we can get. I need to stay alive to open the stone if something goes wrong again. If Thanos somehow manages to snap again. And maybe if he really is coming for me, then he’ll make the mistake of grabbing me and get fucked over for it.”

“Does it make you feel safe?”

Her eyes flashed to Tony’s at his question. There was something there, swirling under the surface that she couldn’t name, couldn’t quite understand, but she thought about his question. And then she nodded, her voice soft. “Yes.”

Tony watched her for a long moment.

“Then that’s the only reason you need as far as I’m concerned. I’ll have FRIDAY notify everyone so we’re all on the same page.”

Touched, Darcy opened her mouth to respond and then closed it, like a fish underwater. Glasses clinked softly as Tony finished gathering them. The billionaire was quiet all the way until he reached the sink and then—

“So, you and the Capsicle, huh?” His voice was nonchalant. Darcy’s head snapped up. 

Coming back to herself, she nodded with a small upturn of her lips. Tony just looked at her for what felt like a very long time. 

“Good for you, kid,” Tony opened the dishwasher and began loading in the glasses. He kept it open as Darcy brought over the plates. Very careful to keep a solid distance from Tony physically, she set them on the counter next to the dishwasher before going back to the table to get the placemats. 

Glancing up, Darcy frowned when saw that the billionaire didn’t rinse the plates before loading them but figured that it was his place, his rules, his methods. Still… it made her cringe. But hey, at least he was helping. Darcy bet that Voldemort never did the dishes (at least not that she could remember).

“Steve,” Tony began suddenly and then stopped. Two plates clanged together as he straightened. “He and I have our differences but he’s a good man.”

“He is,” Darcy agreed, carrying over the round beige mats. She then added quietly, “and so is Bucky.”

Mid-load, Tony went utterly still. 

Impossibly dark eyes stared off to the side and she watched the billionaire’s jaw grind. And then, like flicking on a light switch, Tony’s face almost magically changed. There was a fake, bright smile that didn’t reach his eyes whatsoever.

“See, now I was trying to be polite and not ask even though everyone on the team is more than aware of the two old geezers love story, but since you brought it up,” Tony bent, tucking the silverware away in small slots in the dishwasher, his voice muffled. And then he straightened, squinting harshly at Darcy across the counter, “Am I going to have to throw a really progressive wedding someday and piss off a whole slew of right-wing media outlets?”

Darcy sputtered, the mats tumbling out of her hands to the ground.

“We’re not—it’s not—” Darcy babbled but the words wouldn’t come because her brain misfired in a flash of panic at the word ‘wedding’. Bending over, she gathered the fallen placemats and straightened once more. Shoving any mental images that had to do with any form of a wedding violently away, Darcy’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing Steve,” Tony reminded her, his voice very flat. “And possibly Barnes, too.”

A beat of silence.

“Just Steve,” Darcy clarified and then blinked, wondering what in the hell she was doing having this conversation with Tony fucking Stark. But as it was, every single goddamn female was gone on a mission and desperate times called for desperate measures. 

Besides, if the three of them were really going to be a possibility, Darcy knew that she needed to learn to be able to talk about it without turning into a flustered mess.

And so she swallowed and steadied her voice, turning to Tony. “Bucky and I are still figuring things out. But it’s on the table.”

“Ah,” he nodded sagely. The shutters behind his eyes were firmly closed and he kept that same simpering kind of smile on the edges of his mouth. “Well, I hope things work out for the best, whatever that best might be for you.”

And then he whirled on his heels, grabbing his plate piled high with garlic bread without another word. The billionaire turned to leave.

Darcy shifted forward, hands gripping the lip of the cool marble counter.

“Thanks, Tony.”

He lifted a hand, not bothering to turn around. “Sure thing. Just call me Doctor Phil.”

She paused, and then—“I meant for the gauntlet.”

Tony’s shoulders visibly stiffened and he lifted his head. He turned slightly, letting her see his profile but kept his gaze lowered, brows pulled together tightly in the doorway. His voice softened, but just barely. “Don’t thank me yet, kid.”

* * *

The ground rushed up to meet them in a kaleidoscope of light and color. It was a dizzying effect, like a skydiver with a failed parachute on a psychedelic trip. And yet gravity tugged on them at the last moment, slowing them down and making the landing bearable. 

Well, bearable for Jane and Thor, that is.

Loki landed beside them face first in the grass with a _splat_.

Perched safely in Thor’s arms, the astrophysicist peeked over her bent knees to see Loki whip his dark head up absolutely _seething_. His eyes narrowed into thin slits and he rose to his feet, muscles coiling like an angry cat.

“You did that on purpose!”

Thor carefully lowered Jane down to her own two feet. The god’s laugh was like rain on a mountain. “If you would only learn to keep your feet beneath you, little brother, you would not struggle so.”

Loki snarled.

“If _you_ —”

Their argument faded away in Jane’s ears as the bitingly cold wind swirled around her in a sudden gust. Strands of her hair stuck to her lips; she reached up to tuck then behind her ear. Walking away from the bickering brothers, an odd sense of déjà vu crept over her. 

She had been here before.

They were on a high green cliff as the sun began to set, turning the thin clouds on the horizon a brilliant gold. The air was thick with the smell of the salt sea and just over the cliff, the waters splattered against the dark rock in a spray of white foam. A short dirt path led up to the topmost point of the cliff where a large pile of gray stones sat.

Jane walked up the path towards those stones. Her steps were slow and shuffled, almost as if she were drifting into a dream. Her blood marched in her ears, rushing and churning like the sea below. It was cold, cold in a way that stole her breath and hunched her shoulders. The skin on her face burned from the wind and the tip of her nose had turned red. 

She continued walking.

Her palms planted above her knee for leverage as she took one last, large step up the incline to reach the top. Panting at the exertion, Jane peered out to the place where the sea and sky met as the sun began to dip below the waters and she saw a flash of green light.

Thor appeared beside her, staring out over the ocean, his expression serious.

“It’s just like I dreamed,” Jane told him, quietly, and Thor nodded, deep and slow.

“The Allfather drifted into Valhalla clear across these waters. I was not sure I would ever see this place again—or ever want to see it again,” his brows furrowed slightly. “So much was lost here.”

“Much of that is my fault.”

Both Thor and Jane turned to Loki as he approached with slow steps on the other side of Thor. The raven-haired god’s expression was withdrawn and contemplative and Jane thought he almost looked… sad. 

“I am sorry, brother,” Loki said plainly. He did not turn and look at Thor, did not say anything beyond those four words. 

Jane wished he would say more, wished it for the sake of Thor who foolishly loved people with his whole heart, even as they cut it right out of his chest. And yet, that was what Jane loved most about Thor, his ability to love wholly, completely, in ways that she didn’t quite comprehend.

Thor’s inhale was shaky and his voice, when he spoke, particularly deep. “You also saved our people when I could not.”

For a long time, Loki did not move, did not look like he even breathed. And then—

“Only after I helped destroy them. If I had not called down Heimdall, if I had not allowed Hela to… and Thanos—” Loki stopped short, lowering his face to the ground. “I am sorry.”

It was a slow thing, the way that Thor turned his face away from his brother and back to the horizon. Silver lined the bottom of his eyes, reflecting in the dying light. He was tall and noble, fierce and proud, kind and broken, and Jane could not take her eyes off of him. 

Thor looked like a king, crownless but royal, nonetheless.

He was the kind of king that knights of old would vow their loyalty and lives to, the kind that would rule with the heart of a servant, beloved and true.

Staring hard into the abyss where their father left this world, left the two of them, and The God of Thunder whispered at last—

“I forgive you, Loki.” 

The words were a supernova; a sudden luminous, brilliant explosion that outshined galaxies. It was a star that reached the end of its life, obliterating all that was before into glittering pieces.

Not another word was spoken among them. The three waited until the sun disappeared entirely, casting the world in a muted kind a gray before the rolling darkness of night enveloped. Jane was the first to turn away, giving the two brothers some privacy.

Behind them were rolling green mountains, mist hovering like low hung clouds around their peaks. Tucking her arms around herself and shivering in the cold, Jane walked around the lone pile of gray stones and then froze.

Her eyes dropped to the base of the stones where a large hammer rested, as though it had been there all along, waiting for them, though she distinctly remembered it not being there moments before.

Mjolnir.

Heart pounding, Jane knelt and reached out a finger to touch the flat surface of its side. The symbols on it glowed to life in a radiant blue. Jane grinned wildly and snapped her head up, the wind catching her hair like a wild flag.

“Thor!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mew Mew is back! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has joined in this wild journey with me. Also, bonus thanks to MamaAvocado for, quite possibly, my favorite tag suggestion ever. You'll see the newest addition to the relationships here, the real OT3 of this story: Groot/Skittles/RedBull. 
> 
> Come say hello on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/)!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My good people, we are officially over 200k! I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you’re still here. I can’t believe I’m still here. I can’t believe we are still slow-burning. Are we alive? What is happening? Why haven’t I been sponsored by Skittles yet?

“Hi, yes, I would like to order one extra long nap in the biggest bed you have available and if you could wrap that up in an extra warm blanket, that would be great. Oh, and toss in a side order of a date with my super hot boyfriend at some point in the near future. Please and thank you. _Buh-bye_.”

Steve blinked down at Darcy. His brows furrowed in confusion, blue gaze sliding over her, and she would have laughed if she hadn’t been so exhausted, because she’d never seen that look of utter bafflement on his handsome face before.

Not that she could really blame him. 

Darcy had wandered over to Steve and Bucky’s room after cleaning up the dishes from lunch. By the time she got there, it was all she could do to simply prop herself up against the wall opposite from their room after knocking on their door. Steve had answered in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, his hair wet and messy, clumping together until it curled slightly at the ends; there was a beige towel in his hands, as though he had just stepped out of the shower and she had started mumbling her stupid joke the instant the door cracked open. 

It took real effort to keep her eyelids from drooping closed completely as an otherworldly exhaustion settled around her like a heavy weight. It had been hovering there ever since Thor left with Jane and Loki but it seemed to decide that now was the perfect time to descend upon her in full force. 

While it was true that Darcy’s energy levels had never quite returned to normal since the first incident with the Soul Stone, this fatigue felt different. She didn’t know if it was in direct result of the spell, the stressful morning in general, or even the sex god in front of her fucking her brains out a few hours ago (or perhaps all of the above?). 

All she knew was that she needed to go lay down. 

“Did that spell mess with your head?” Steve asked her finally, his voice questioning and curious under the almost frightened half-laugh bubbling in his chest.

“Oh, ha, ha, Muscles,” Darcy mocked in reply, tilting her head back and forth. Her voice was low and as gravelly as that of a seventy-year-old chain-smoking male. “You’re a very lucky man, you know.”

A pause and a quirked brow.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I was tempted to ignore your request about stopping by to check in after… after Loki did ‘the thing’. My original plan was just to go to my room and crash instead because _oh, my god_ , I’m so tired. But, since I know you worry like a really scary, aggressive mother hen, here I am,” Darcy said with grandeur, throwing her arms out to her side before they flopped back down lifelessly, “doing the responsible thing. Be grateful. Now, are you satisfied seeing that I am alive and well? Can I go sleep for the rest of the day?”

Somewhere behind Steve came an amused snort.

It took her a couple of seconds to realize where (or _who_ ) the sound came from. Then, Darcy’s brows lifted, and she tilted her head, hollering a hoarse sounding, “Hi Bucky.”

A beat of silence.

“Hey Darce,” came his disembodied reply. Bucky didn’t appear at Steve’s side and there was an odd wet sort of scraping sound from deep inside their room that she couldn’t quite place.

She squinted, voice dropping to a whisper, “What’s he doing in there?”

“Sharpening his knives,” Steve shrugged like it was an everyday occurrence. And maybe to him, it was.

“ _Right_.” The word left her lips slowly. “Super soldiers.”

Steve flashed her a quick grin, momentarily stunning her with his sheer beauty. There weren’t many men that Darcy would honestly call beautiful, but Captain America was definitely at the top of that list.

_He’s not the only one you think is beautiful._

Flushing at that nagging thought, Darcy shoved it away and watched instead as a drop of water slipped down the center of Steve’s forehead, shimmering like a pearl. He rubbed the towel over his face before it could reach the bridge of his nose and Darcy took the prime opportunity to skim her eyes over Steve’s shirtless form.

She bit her lip, leaning her head back against the wall. He really was magnificent, every muscle cut like stone across his skin—skin that was _flawless_. And don’t even get her started on the happy little trail of darker blonde hair starting below his belly button and leading down, down, down to where the sharp V lines cut into his narrow hips.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” asked a voice soft and deep and dark, like midnight.

 _Busted_.

Inhaling sharply through her nose, Darcy’s eyes snapped up to Steve’s smirking face. He tossed the towel behind him and tilted his head, looking down at her through thick, dark lashes before blatantly stretching up to grip the top of the door frame. And then the son of a bitch arched his back. 

Darcy drank him in, the obvious show he was giving her, and her throat tightened, as nearly every muscle in his torso became _that_ much more defined.

Skipping a beat, her heart stuttered in her chest like it wasn’t quite sure what to do with itself. Fire erupted in the pit of her stomach, like a match being dropped into a pool of gasoline, as she remembered with startling clarity what he felt like under her hands, between her thighs, inside of her; _relentless_. Unable to take anymore, Darcy exhaled shakily and pushed off the wall with her shoulders, lurching forward… and then stopped.

And frowned.

Deeply.

“I want to touch you, but I can’t,” she blurted, suddenly more awake than she had been seconds ago. Running her tongue over her bottom lip, Darcy sucked it in between her teeth and bit down _hard_. She winced in actual pain. “I think I might hate this spell.”

“Good, so do I,” Steve agreed right away, his voice calm and amiable, while his eyes were anything but. 

Darcy lifted her gaze up to his face and lifted both brows in response.

Releasing his grip, the blond propped a muscled shoulder against the doorframe and crossed his arms loosely over his bare chest. Steve’s next words were purposefully light as he unflinchingly held her eyes. “Maybe next time something this big comes up, you’ll talk to me about it before making a rash decision that ends up affecting us both.”

 _Oh, he’s_ angry _with me_. 

The typical signs weren’t there. Steve’s jaw wasn’t clenched, his brows were straight and relaxed, his body as a whole wasn’t strung tight with fury, but there was a definite bite to his words. Not to mention the twin hurricanes swirling in his blue gaze as they locked in on her.

Lips flattening, Darcy dropped her chin to her chest with a sigh and reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. 

“Can we _not_ do this right now, Steve? I’m so tired I can hardly see straight,” she muttered and the words tasted bitter on her tongue. “Besides, I thought we weren’t going to fight today.”

“We’re not fighting,” he shook his head easily.

 _Bullshit_ , she very much wanted to say. Instead, Darcy gave the man a very flat look.

“I told you I’m going to try, Darcy. But I also don’t want to lie to you and pretend like I’m okay with this, because I’m not,” Steve explained evenly, but the tone reminded her a little too much of his Captain America voice. It was too practiced, too professional, too much like a lecture, and it set her teeth on edge. “We’ll deal with it later, but for now, all I’m going to say is this: this frustration you feel?” He paused long enough for Darcy to make a face and drag her gaze back to his. Steve held her eyes for a long moment of silence and it took every ounce of strength that she had not to shift under that heavy look. “I hope it sticks. I hope it makes you think twice. I hope someday you’ll trust me enough to actually _talk_ these things through with me. We can’t keep doing this shit. This is your life at stake but it’s also not just you anymore. It’s both of us and maybe, someday, if we’re lucky, three of us.”

By the end Steve sounded more hurt than angry and the quiet between them stretched and bled. 

There was a lot Darcy wanted to say, but the words simmered and rolled around in her belly, refusing to march the path up her throat and out of her mouth. They were locked away and she was so goddamn tired, she couldn’t dig them out even if she wanted to (and for the record, she didn’t want to, not right now at least). Her brows furrowed and her lips twisted as she flicked her gaze off to the side—anywhere but at him. Staring down the long hallway, Darcy finally let herself shift uncomfortably on her feet while she stubbornly kept her lips sealed tight. Steve might have a point, to an extent, but she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge that.

As if he knew she wouldn’t give in, the blond sighed and stepped out into the hallway.

He still kept a solid foot between them, but his movement drew her eyes back to him like a magnet. Steve looked for all the world like he wanted nothing more than to bloody his fingers and rip apart the spell with his bare hands just to close those twelve inches of empty space between them.

And there was a part of her that very much wanted him to—that wanted to go to him, to be held, to take comfort in his touch after everything. 

But she couldn’t.

Not unless she wanted him to die. 

For the first time, it hit Darcy just how much she relied on physical touch, on being able to grab onto Steve’s hand, the reassurance that came from his lips on her forehead. All of it, ripped away from her. But not just that.

Thor was gone. _Jane_ was gone—again. The world was falling apart at the seams and she had never felt so goddamn alone.

It might have been a mere twelve inches between the two of them, but right now, in this moment, it was a deep ravine, fathomless and impossible to cross and it hit Darcy like slamming face first into a brick wall. 

Maybe she had made a mistake. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, suddenly, brows furrowing up the middle of his forehead. 

Darcy’s eyes flew to his, she softly shook her head in response and opened her mouth. He lifted one hand to stop her.

Steve cleared his throat, dragging the words out from between his lips to splatter in the echoing space between them, like he was trying to form a shaky bridge for them to cross. “We did say no fighting, you’re right, and that was a cheap shot I just took. I got carried away. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m just upset and I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Three heartbeats passed and Darcy felt each thump like a sledgehammer against her chest, trying to break free.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too,” she admitted in a small voice, forcing herself to hold his piercing gaze. “You have to know that I didn’t mean to hurt you with this, I promise that wasn’t my intention. I… you’re right, maybe I didn’t think this through. But it’s too late now. I _do_ think this is something we should talk about later though, because clearly, we both have had very different opinions. But just, can we save it for maybe when the world isn’t ending? Maybe for right now we can just pretend like we have some form of normalcy?”

The corner of her mouth hitched upward in a hopeful offering of peace and Steve watched her for a long second before he mirrored her expression. 

There was something very sad in his eyes.

“Okay, we can do that,” he nodded slowly and then paused. Steve swallowed, his throat bobbing before a pink tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip. Darcy’s eyes trailed it, remembering the magic that goddamn tongue worked on her just hours ago.

What she would _give_ to experience that again.

“I promised to support you,” Steve was saying and Darcy blinked, snapping back to the moment. He moved like he planned to step forward and then stopped and held his arms out helplessly to the side. “What do you need, Darcy? What can I do to… help?”

For a long time, she just stared at him. It was an odd thing to see Steve Rogers, the man with a plan, so lost. His face was earnest though, shining with a strange sort of honesty and devotion, like he would walk across a sea of broken glass if she just said the word.

_Or like a man in love._

It was the kind of look she was not used to receiving, the kind of look that frightened her almost, because it stripped her bare, down to her bones and to the core of who she was, the kind that saw everything—the good and the ugly—and wanted her regardless. _Loved_ her regardless, or perhaps (and this was even more frightening), he loved her _because_ he saw all that she was.

Eventually, Darcy’s shoulders hitched upwards towards her ears in a tight shrug. “I don’t know what will help, to be honest,” she said in a quiet tone. “We’ve got, what, less than two days now until I… until everything changes. We don’t know what will happen, if I can even bring the others out of the stone, if I’ll survi—”

She stopped short, her throat closing completely. Unintended tears pricked in her eyes and Darcy blinked rapidly to clear them away, lifting her gaze to the ceiling, drawing in a shaky, uneven breath.

“How about a date?” Steve countered suddenly and Darcy’s eyes snapped down to him. A little mischievous smile played about his lips and it didn’t quite reach his eyes, but _god_ , he was trying. “I distinctly remember you mentioning a date at the start of this.”

Speechless, Darcy just stared at him, not remembering. Then it came. 

Slowly, heat bloomed on her cheeks like a flower opening to sunlight and Darcy’s toes curled in her sandals because he was right, she had talked about a date. And she meant it. Pressing her shoulders back into the wall, Darcy gathered her courage. It was insane, really, how this many could turn her into a bumbling, blushing mess even after they’d had the most glorious sex of her life.

But here she was.

“Mm, I did. We don’t have a lot of options though and this isn’t really the most ideal time for romance,” she laughed lightly and it was a humorless, ruthless thing. 

“We can make it work,” Steve promised her with all the sincerity in the world. “We’ve made it work this far, haven’t we?”

Steve’s gaze was steady and there was something like hope in his expression. Something inside of her absolutely melted at the way he kept staring at her, as though she held his entire world. 

“Yeah, we have, Muscles,” Darcy admitted with a soft smile. “Okay then. Um, maybe… do you… do you wanna go up on the roof tonight? If you’re free? We don’t have to do anything special but, I don’t know, maybe we could spend some time together before everything happens?”

“Of course, sweetheart. That’d be really nice,” Steve said in a gentle voice and it slid under her skin, wrapping around her bones like warm honey.

Darcy sucked in a breath and squinted at him, because there was more she wanted to say, more that she had in mind when she originally showed up at his doorstep before everything got all mixed up, but she was also a little terrified. She pressed back into the wall behind her again, letting it ground her to the moment. The words churned and swelled in her belly, rising higher, and higher. Finally, she rushed out—

“Can you tell Bucky that I’d like for him to join us?”

Across from her, Steve went very still.

She knew instantly that he was remembering her Freudian slip earlier that day, about Bucky joining them in an _entirely_ different manner. But, thankfully, Steve didn’t acknowledge it, simply choosing to bite his lip with luxurious slowness and nod. “I will.”

_Oh, boy._

The way he voice deepened at that moment did _things_ to her. Or maybe it was the embers flickering in his eyes? The way that they burned, hot and hungry, with a look he had worn only when he had been between her legs utterly unraveling her.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, so obviously eye fucking one another. But after a long moment, Darcy distantly noticed the wet scraping sound she had heard earlier from inside their room had come to a complete stop. 

The door was open behind Steve, but she couldn’t see that deep into their room. There was no sign of the dark-haired man, and yet, Darcy knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he heard every word she had just said.

Her blood rushed in her ears, a roaring wave, and she could feel her pulse pounding in her temple as she called out in a slightly shaky voice, “Bucky?” 

Silence.

Nervously, Darcy’s eyes flicked to Steve and then to the door.

And then a shadow appeared, followed by Bucky’s familiar form filling up the doorframe. He was still in the all black get up from that morning and his hair was mussed—like he had been running a worried hand through it, tugging it this way and that. His movements were tense and didn’t match the practiced smoothness of his voice when he asked slowly, “You askin’ me on a date, Sunshine?”

Vicious little butterflies flipped and flipped and flipped in her stomach because Bucky was waiting for her answer and Steve was just staring at her like he could fucking _burst_.

Her stomach clenched.

“Mhm,” Darcy nodded jerkily, keenly aware of the way her skin was heating and the way her heart was sprinting in her chest. She swallowed audibly. “It’s—I mean, eventually we’ll be able to do better, but… Does seven work for both of you?”

“We’ll be there,” Bucky told her without hesitation, his gray-blue eyes bright and focused solely on her. He didn’t check with Steve, but the blonde made no objection, choosing instead to just smile at Darcy in a slow, wide, stupid way that made her want to hide under a blanket like an immature teen.

Darcy glanced between the two of them with a bashful grin.

“Okay. Great. Well, I’m just gonna… _yeah_.” She pointed down the hall that would lead to the path to her room before turning on her heel and zipping away without another word, dark hair flying out behind her.

She didn’t need to turn around to know that two sets of eyes followed her the entire way.

* * *

The job, for the most part, was easy—if not a little tedious.

He had been born and trained for the glory of war after all, not this.

After years of infertility, his mother had gone before Thor and begged for his blessing and, ultimately, for a child. She had gone as far as to give an oath that any child of hers would be dedicated at birth to serve and defend Thor’s house, to which the God of Thunder had accepted and then given her his blessing.

She conceived that very night.

When Forseti was born, his mother had kept true to her word. From the time he could walk, she had made sure that his body would be honed into a weapon through centuries upon centuries of blood and sweat and gods-damned hard work. His hands were scarred, muscles strong, and his mind sharp. 

There was a reason why out of all of the available guards, he was a part of a small, elite team chosen to keep a wary eye on the prisoner. It was an honor to be given this task above all others.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t at least a little boring.

Thankfully, he wouldn’t be bored for much longer as he caught sight of his shift change approaching, bringing along with her a meal for the prisoner. It was routine for them, every changing of the guard, the new arrival brought in a meal and the old one would take the empty dishes from the previous meal back to the kitchens. 

Easy.

Forseti nodded as the other guard, Hariasa, a female with sharp, intelligent eyes and deadly aim with a bow, finally reached him.

“Anything to report?” She asked, even though she knew the answer. 

Forseti shrugged. “Not a word out of him. The creature has been silent, as usual.”

Pushing off the wall with his shoulders, Forseti rolled his stiff neck around until it popped. He tightened the scabbard around his waist and picked up the long spear that had been resting beside him while Hariasa moved towards the cell. A jingling sound reached his ears as she shook the keys from her waist.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hariasa stiffen and then straighten.

“Forseti…”

Fear slithered up his spine at the way she said his name and he frowned deeply, hurrying over. “What is it?”

She didn’t answer, merely stared into the cell; her face was bone white. 

Reaching her side, Forseti peaked in through the small, barred window and then his heart plummeted into his stomach as though he were falling from a great height—a height he would not survive.

“Hariasa,” he breathed out, the name trembling off his lips. “Go find Valkyrie.”

* * *

She was sore. 

_Fucking hell_ , she was sore.

By the time night had fallen, Darcy was definitely walking a little funny and sitting down was very much _not_ her friend. 

Which was why she was currently choosing to stand up and lean against the railing along the roof’s deck as she waited for the boys to arrive instead of taking one of the three chairs that had magically appeared on the roof at some point during her long afternoon nap. Not only were there three chairs (one of which she scooted a little further away from the other two for her own peace of mind, given the damn spell) but a small table as well. Darcy had a nagging feeling that a certain blond super soldier was responsible for this clear set up and it would be a lie to say that it hadn’t made her heart flutter when she first caught sight of what he had arranged.

This might be a sorry first date, given the impending war looming over their heads, the fact that she couldn’t be touched in any shape or form, and the stress wearing all of them extra thin, but it was clear that Steve was going to do everything in his power to make the best of it.

God, she loved that man.

The sky above was fading from light gray to a deep navy and the first speckles of stars began to pop up over the dark, swaying trees. There was no moon tonight as the cycle began afresh and Darcy found herself missing its comforting presence. Her mind flitted to those bleak nights early on back at the safehouse when hope seemed so frail, ready to crumble completely at the slightest breeze. Nights that she spent watching the sky and whispering out desperate prayers to Jane and, oddly enough, Bucky. 

A part of her wanted to ask him if he had ever heard the things she prayed and wished, given that the first thing he had ever said to her was that he recognized her voice. She was pretty sure she knew the answer, seeing that there were nights she still dreamed about him in that strange blood-tinted world.

Chewing on her thumbnail, Darcy inhaled the fresh scent from the surrounding shadowed forest, filling her lungs to the brim. Spitting a small piece of the nail over the railing, she scrunched her nose and decided to ask him another time, another night, when she was braver. 

Not tonight. 

Minutes ticked by as she waited. It had to be after seven, she figured, given the sheer amount of time she had been standing up here. 

_And what are you going to do if they don’t show? Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been stood up, you know._

Frowning, Darcy shoved that thought away as hard and as viciously as she could. They’d show up. The chairs and table were proof it was on their minds—that even, maybe, they were excited. Plus, it’s not like they had anywhere else they could really go right now.

They’d show up. They had to.

Another five minutes passed and Darcy pressed her lips together. Something akin to fear gnawed at the edges of her mind, shaking an already trembling soul.

_Oh, god, please show up._

Nervously, Darcy glanced down to her choice of clothing for the night and grimaced. It was a casual date, nothing fancy (she wasn’t sure that any of them had anything remotely fancy here). The jean shorts were fine and showed more than a little leg, but she was comfortable in them. The form fitting red tank top? Not so much.

Darcy’s left hand trailed obsessively over the oddly smooth and stretched texture of her scars. After covering them for so long, it felt strange to have them out in the open—bare and vulnerable to others observation.

It wasn’t so much the scars themselves that she minded, though they were jarring and still caught her off guard most times. It was the look of pain and pity that seemed to flash through everyone else’s face when they saw them. She didn’t like being that reminder.

Her scarred hand twitched.

Darcy was just about to turn around to hurry back to her room to grab a jacket when the door to the deck creaked open and the low tones of Steve’s voice reached her ears followed by Bucky’s deep chuckle. 

She froze, chest clenching tightly, pulse jumping in her neck.

The two men walked out onto the deck, arms full, slowly fading smiles on their faces. She didn’t know what kind of expression she wore, but it was enough that when Steve caught sight of her, his face sobered completely.

“I’m so sorry we’re late, Darcy,” Steve’s voice was flustered, the edges of his words laced with frustration. “I got caught up.”

“What he means is that he got into an argument with the oven and nearly set the kitchen on fire,” Bucky explained, his voice one big grin.

Steve glared at the dark-haired man as they approached, muttering, “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Well if you had just listened to me, you would have known the goddamn proper way to make popcorn and all of this could have been avoided, but _no_ , being the hard-headed son of a bitch that you are, you had to—”

“ _Buck_.”

Steve cut him off mid-rant and Bucky’s mouth clicked shut. Darcy got the feeling that when he got going, Bucky wasn’t one to stop so easily. But tonight was different.

And okay, it might be because she had yet to move or say a single word or even fucking smile and Steve had that worried pinch in his brows as he stared at her still form and the way her hand had a white-knuckled grip on the metal railing.

 _For fuck’s sake, Darcy, don’t make this awkward. Say something—_ do _something._

Inwardly shaking herself, Darcy tried her best to relax and act casual as she defrosted and her lips curved upward in a soft, albeit nervous, smile. “Hey,” she started, her voice quiet. Clearing her throat, she tried again, louder— “I’m glad you could make it. You had me a little nervous there,” her lips quirked more as she attempted to turn things more lighthearted. “I thought this was going to end up being a solo date.”

“Not a chance in hell, sweetheart,” Steve assured her, his gaze a soft thing. “I wouldn’t miss this even if the whole damn world was burning.”

“It kind of is, you know,” Darcy tried to joke, shifting on her feet. Her voice, thank god, was surprisingly steady. Slowly, she released her grip on the railing and simply rested her arm atop it. Grasping for anything to say, Darcy blurted out, “Thanks for bringing up the chairs, by the way. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Steve’s brows lifted as he moved toward the small table, a gigantic silver bowl nearly overflowing with popcorn in one hand and a case of beer dangling in the other. “Oh, that wasn’t me.”

Darcy’s brows furrowed and Steve flashed a grin her direction before glancing over his shoulder as he unloaded the bowl and drinks onto the table.

Behind him, Bucky had stopped halfway between the door and them, looking out over the land surrounding the Compound, like he was giving them some privacy. There was a soft looking blanket tucked under his arm and smaller, empty bowls in his left hand along with what looked like a portable speaker of some sort. As if he felt her eyes on him, he turned and met her gaze.

Suddenly her original thoughts about Steve’s thoughtfulness and excitement for the date took on an entirely different meaning when it hit her square in the chest that it was Bucky who was responsible. 

Her skin tingled as she held his gaze.

“Oh, well, thank you,” Darcy amended in a voice like winter’s first snowfall. “I appreciate it.”

Something almost bashful flashed through Bucky’s expression and he shrugged lightly. “’S’no big deal. Besides, figured we were gonna spend some time up here, might as well make it comfortable.”

Her lips split into a slow but true smile and it took him a second or two of drinking it in before he smiled right back at her. 

After that, Bucky wandered the rest of the way over with slow, ambling steps and Darcy gave herself permission to openly watch his approach. He was big, like Steve, but slightly slimmer compared to the blonde’s sheer bulk, and he moved like liquid grace. Darcy imagined that he must have walked with a hell of a swagger back in the forties—she could picture it now, the uniform and the smirk and the attitude he wore so well.

Blue-gray eyes swept over her from head to toe, taking inventory the closer he got. Darcy stiffened as Bucky’s gaze skimmed over her bare arm, watching his expression closely.

It never changed, not even in the slightest, and for that, she found herself grateful for James Buchanan Barnes in an entirely different way.

Of course, he wouldn’t think twice about it—he of all people would understand what it’s like, the staring.

As he reached the table Bucky kept his eyes on her and his voice, when he spoke next, was inexplicably soft, “You look beautiful.”

Ducking her head to hide her blush, Darcy made the mistake of rolling her eyes. 

“He’s right,” Steve piped up suddenly and she jolted in surprise, whipping her head towards him. Steve had been quietly watching the two of them. “You are a beautiful woman, Darcy. You can roll your eyes all you want, but it’s the truth and I’ll find every goddamn way possible to tell you.”

The weight of both men’s gazes was a physical thing, like a weighted jacket pining her in place, and it was almost too much to take. Her leg jiggled, out of its own accord, and Darcy bit her lip. Steeling her nerves, she reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear and then gripped the railing once more, like it was an anchor. Lifting onto her toes slightly, Darcy peeked at the bowl Steve had set on the low table. It really was ginormous. Her eyes flicked to his. “So, are we having a beer and popcorn picnic?”

He glanced down.

“Figured we’d keep things casual tonight. We can get some wine instead, if you’d prefer to drink that?”

Darcy shook her head, “Beer is fine.”

Her gaze drifted back to the sheer amount of popcorn in that one mega-bowl and she wondered briefly just how long it must have taken them to pop all of that. The mental image of both hulking men hovering over the oven, bickering over the proper way to make popcorn, made her grin. 

“Did you really almost burn down the kitchen?” Darcy teased, eyes darting away from the popcorn heaven when Steve _harrumphed_ like an old grandpa and plopped down in one of the chairs. It groaned under his weight. 

“Don’t believe everything Bucky says,” Steve grunted out as he leaned forward and grabbed a beer, quickly popping the top off. “There was no fire.”

“But there _was_ a fire alarm, punk,” Bucky corrected, setting down the speaker and the three smaller bowls. He began dishing out popcorn into each.

“Semantics.” 

Steve unfurled his body and moved towards Darcy. She met him halfway to take the cold drink he offered, careful to grab it around the neck without touching him. 

“Thank you,” Darcy murmured and Steve’s lips quirked in response, his eyes sparkling.

There was a moment when it seemed like he was going to reach out and touch her but swiftly stopped himself, hand curling into a tight fist, before turning back around. Thankfully, he didn’t comment on the obvious frustration.

Bucky was waiting with a bowl of popcorn for him and Steve took it with a quiet thank you. Smiling softly at the blond, as though he understood, Bucky gave him a quick peck on the lips. His eyes flicked to her next and Bucky lifted the small bowl of popcorn in question.

Darcy shook her head, raising her otherwise untouched beer. “I’ll have some a bit later.”

Brows pinching, Bucky set it on the table for her anyway while Steve got two more beers, one for him and another for Bucky. 

The droplets of condensation on the dark bottle were cool against her fingertips. Darcy turned so that she could rest her elbows back against the railing and observe the two men as they settled in their chairs. It didn’t go past her notice that they left the middle one open for her (and she tried really hard not to think about being in the _middle_ ).

It also didn’t go past her notice that Bucky had draped the blanket he had brought up across her chair. She tilted her head at it.

“Thought you might get cold,” he explained, watching her carefully. Darcy’s eyes darted to his.

A pause.

“In the middle of summer?” 

The brunette shrugged, running a hand through his long hair, pushing it back from his face. “You never know.”

She remembered suddenly Steve’s reveal about Bucky’s nervous tick despite his usual cool and collected attitude and something in her melted.

Darcy smiled at Bucky softly, her voice gentling on its own accord. “That’s very sweet of you.”

Eyes the color of autumn rain locked onto her and Darcy watched as the corner of Bucky’s eyes crinkled happily though he said nothing in response.

“So,” Steve started, suddenly. The chair squeaked as he leaned back, a smaller bowl of popcorn on one thigh and a beer on his other. 

Darcy blinked and lifted both brows as he stared at her expectantly. “So?”

Next to Steve, Bucky grinned slightly around the lip of his bottle as he tipped it back, as though he knew what was coming. Darcy’s eyes flicked to the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

“Difference of opinion aside, are you okay after today?” Steve asked, finally. “Did it…” he frowned and shook his head, brows lifting in the middle, “hurt?”

She eyed the blond for a long moment and tried not to grin at his adorable concern. 

“What, the sex?” Darcy quipped after a moment, bringing her own bottle to her lips.

Bucky coughed, choking on his drink. He pounded on his chest lightly while Darcy grinned naughtily behind her beer. Steve, however, gave her a very flat look.

“Not what I meant, sweetheart, but sure, we’ll toss that in there, too.” 

Having mercy on the poor man, Darcy lowered her bottle, her grin fading but refusing to go away completely. “It was weird at first—”

“The sex?” Bucky cut her off with another cough, still trying to clear his throat but he was smiling openly at her.

Darcy turned to him, eyes rounded in surprised. But Bucky didn’t relent and it was almost as if she could hear him saying, ‘ _You started this. C’mon, play with me. We can take him._ ’

The two of them shared a secretive, mischievous look, and then Darcy took a deep swallow from her beer, holding Bucky’s gaze the entire time. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she turned more towards the dark-haired man.

“Yeah, you know, I got worried,” she told Bucky, scrunching her nose dramatically. Her voice dropped into a mock whisper. “I had to show him where certain things go. Total amateur, I can’t believe you’ve put up with it for so long.”

“Mm, all brawn and no brains they say. Serum couldn’t fix that, I suppose,” Bucky shook his head morosely. And then he slanted a look at Steve before flicking his eyes back to Darcy and they were absolutely _dancing_ and she knew in that instant that whatever was about to come out of his mouth was going to be so, so bad. 

And it was.

“His cock is still so pretty though, isn’t it?” 

Darcy’s eyes nearly fell out of her head. 

Unaffected, Bucky continued secretly with a wicked smile, “He’ll figure out how to use it someday, but until then, we’ll keep him around.”

Stunned at this new level of teasing and joking they had somehow stumbled into, Darcy wasn’t sure what to say, so she desperately took a long swig of her beer instead.

Steve, however, drawled out, “I’m beginning to regret the idea of the two of you getting together.”

“What, you scared?” Bucky egged him on, digging his hand into his popcorn bowl. 

Steve’s face transformed into something utterly sexual and he slanted a _Look_ at the dark-haired man. Before Steve could up the ante, Darcy coughed, loudly, her heart pounding. “ _Anyway_ ,” her voice all but squeaked as she lifted her bottle, saluting them, “good beer.”

The two men paused and cast a glance her way and then grinned knowingly, relaxing back into their chairs. The tension in the air bled away into something much more bearable.

“It’s not bad,” Steve agreed, taking another swallow. Sighing and licking his lips, he peered at the label with a squint. “I’ve never been one to prefer imported though.”

“Straight up American, huh, Cap? How fitting.” Darcy snickered, grinning at him as she drank.

“I’m going to ignore that.” Steve commented to no one in particular. His chair squeaked again as he shifted in it. Steve’s face lost the teasing edge from and his expression turned more searching, the concern bleeding back into the furrow of his brows. “Really though, Darcy, how are you?”

Darcy thought about that for a moment. “I’m alright,” she nodded and found that it was mostly true. “When Loki cast the spell, it was weird. Like pins and needles everywhere, but I don’t feel anything now. Which is almost weirder.”

Steve made a noise in the back of his throat. “Do you know if it works?”

“I don’t really want to test it and find out.”

“Good point,” Steve nodded. 

Silence fell over them after that and it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, just… new. As if he had prepared for that, Bucky leaned forward and began messing with the small speaker he had brought up with him. A few seconds later it crackled with the sound of loose, jazzy music—nothing like the tunes that Darcy had grown up with but very clearly something that was a comfort to both he and Steve. The longer she listened, the more Darcy found that she didn’t mind, it was soft and calming and soon had her swaying lightly from where she leaned against the railing.

Darcy got three-quarters of the way through her beer when the last of twilight faded and a deeper kind of darkness settled over them. Bucky began tossing pieces of popcorn up in the air to catch in his mouth and it was amusing and almost scary to see that no matter how high he tossed them, they never missed their destination. 

A childish part of her wanted to sneak up and bat one away before he could catch it, just for the hell of it (and maybe to see what he would do), but she wasn’t taking any chances with the spell.

“Don’t you want to sit down, sweetheart?”

Darcy jolted, snapping back to herself. Steve had been watching her the way she watched Bucky’s little show. She looked at the chair he motioned to, between the two of them, and she was sorely tempted.

 _Sorely_ being the key word there because the mere thought of sitting down had her clenching inside. 

“I’m good standing,” Darcy shook her head.

Steve frowned but it was Bucky who suddenly spoke up.

“Epsom salt,” he said around a mouthful of popcorn and Darcy’s eyes flashed to him. There was a knowing kind of sympathy in his gaze as he swallowed and then explained softly, “For a bath. It helps with the soreness. We should have some around this place—it’s got everything.”

She tried not to blush at his obvious understanding of her current predicament but failed. It didn’t help that she felt Steve’s gaze sharpen to a razor’s edge as it locked in on her. Bucky, however, kept his expression open and kind. 

“You just put it in a bath, that’s it?” Darcy asked, shifting her bottle to her other hand.

“Yeah. Measure out the right amount and then soak for a while. I’ve used it a lot when my back starts hurting. M’arm is heavy and sometimes the muscles get all knotted up trying to compensate with the added weight. I can take a look around for it, if you want?”

Biting her lip, Darcy just barely nodded, her face utterly aflame. If it weren’t for the complete non-judgmental sincerity in Bucky’s offer, Darcy would have been mortified. But as it was, there was a certain kind of sweetness that she was seeing from the other man tonight that felt new and Darcy didn’t want to offend him. 

“That would be great, thank you.”

Bucky offered her a gentle smile, then—

“Darcy, did I hurt you?” 

She had known it was coming and yet still Darcy rolled her eyes at Steve, hearing the worry in his voice. She huffed out a small, incredulous laugh, lifting her beer back to her lips. “Not in any way that I wouldn’t beg for you to do again. I told you it had been a while for me. Soreness was bound to happen, it’s no big deal. Plus, not to boost your ego or anything, but you’re not exactly small.”

His wide chest expanded as Steve inhaled, surely with some kind of a retort. Before he had the chance to make it, Darcy bit the bullet and pushed off the railing, sauntering over to her chair, all the while carefully avoiding their long, outstretched legs. She felt both men watching her as she carefully eased down in it. The pain was sharp and radiated up into her lower belly but Darcy worked hard to keep her face blank. What she couldn’t stop was the fact that her breath locked up in her chest, but it passed after a few tense moments and then she was able to ease back into the chair with a soft sigh.

“See?” She said, her voice purposefully light. “No problem here.”

Steve, however, was strung as tight as a bowstring.

“ _Goddamnit_ ,” he exhaled explosively. Blue eyes flickered over her, his brows pulled low and severe. “Darcy, you should’ve said something. There’s a reason why I ask for a color.”

Her brows raced to her hairline.

“Um, I’m sorry, I’m pretty sure I cursed at you and then _screamed_ green, so… Do you hear me complaining?” When Steve didn’t answer, Darcy leaned forward, forearm resting on the arm of her chair, holding his gaze. “No? Because I’m not. I _liked_ it—all of it. A little too much,” she grinned here and then crossed one leg over the other, flicking her gaze over the blond. “But now that we’re talking about this, how’s your back, Steve? I found blood under my fingernails this afternoon.”

Steve grunted and the sound was a begrudging kind of thing. He held her eyes as he knocked back the last of his beer and ran his tongue over his teeth. “I heal quickly.”

“You sound disappointed,” Darcy commented.

“Sometimes I’d like to carry it around for longer than an hour.”

Unconsciously, Darcy glanced at Bucky, remembering the hickey on his neck that had been _so_ interesting to her this morning. He had been quietly watching the two of them volley back and forth and as though he anticipated her look, Bucky tipped his head back to reveal flawless skin.

“I heal slower than him,” Bucky explained, lowly, “but still accelerated.”

Darcy frowned, her mind racing to the numerous marks along her chest and neck (some of which were visible) and the fingerprints on her ass and hips and thighs that she had inspected after her nap. Steve had done a number on her, but she meant what she said. She loved every minute of it, loved that he didn’t treat her like she was fragile—it just didn’t help that she bruised like a peach and always had. 

“Well I don’t think _mine_ will fade for a few days,” Darcy huffed out with a secret grin and a wink at the blond. 

He drew in a deep breath and the speaker began playing a new song, the tune still slow and easy. “As long as you’re being honest with me about it.”

“Trust me,” Darcy assured him, lips curving. She shifted slightly until she felt a spark of pain and sighed. “I’m more than okay. Totally fine, in fact. You made up for it plenty. Except for one thing.”

“What’s that?” Steve perked up.

A beat of silence.

“It made Jane ask some _really_ awkward questions at lunch.”

The upset and worried expression faded quickly from his handsome face and Steve tilted his head to the side, interested. “Like what?” 

Her cheeks flushed, warmth seeping down her throat to her chest, turning her skin a pretty pink.

“It was awkward for a reason,” Darcy mumbled out. 

“Aw, c’mon Darce,” Bucky cajoled from the side. He had slouched down in his chair lazily, one long leg stretching out in front of him. “You can tell us.” His voice took on a gravelly tone, “The three of us, we’re supposed to share after all ain’t we?”

Darcy was not acknowledging the shiver that rushed through her at those words, the clear implication. She was absolutely not. Even as it gathered in her chest and pushed its way out through her breasts, tightening her nipples. 

Instead, she sniffed delicately and stared down at her beer, deciding that if Bucky was going to play dirty, so would she. 

Lifting her gaze, Darcy stared steadily at the dark-haired man and his smirking face as she admitted, “She wanted to know which one of you it was.”

Silence. Bucky’s whole face opened and his dark brows lifted, but it was Steve, for once, who blurted out a surprised—

“Oh.”

“ _AHA!_ ” Darcy whipped around to him, gripping the armrest and grinning madly. Steve quickly realized his mistake and hung his head in shame while Darcy merely pointed a finger at him and made an exaggerated face at him. “ _Oh_.”

“I deserved that.” Steve muttered even as his lips curved upwards. 

Darcy cackled, “Yes, you fucking did. How does it feel, huh?”

“Shut up,” he threw her own words back at her and grinned in a way that made his eyes squint happily, like two happy half-moons.

“So, Jane knows what we’re considering?” Bucky piped up and Darcy twisted back in her chair. 

She nodded. “She kind of guessed. We’re not that subtle, I suppose. But out of everyone, Thor was the first I actually talked to about it. About us.”

It was amazing, really, how fast the shutters behind Bucky’s eyes flickered shut at the mention of the god. The dark-haired man’s face was almost instantly blank and utterly unreadable. Darcy eyed him warily, but plowed on ahead.

“Remember when you asked me what he and I were talking about that one morning in the training center while you two meatheads were being all testosterone-y?”

“Testosterone-y?” Steve repeated around a laugh and Darcy dramatically rolled her head his direction.

She pointed down to the case at his feet. “Hush you and give me another beer. My vocabulary improves the more buzzed I am.”

Steve grinned widely at her, his teeth bright even in the gathering dark, and leaned down to snag another dark bottle.

“I remember,” Bucky admitted in a quiet tone and Darcy heard the bottle cap pop off under Steve’s hand. It clinked softly as it hit the ground.

Darcy carefully reached for the bottle as Steve held it out for her and smiled in thanks. Taking a quick sip from it, she licked her lips and drew in a breath. “That’s what we were talking about. He wanted to make sure I was being smart and that I knew about the two of you before I got in too deep with Steve,” she tossed a small smile Steve’s way that clearly said the god had been too late in his warning—she had been gone on the man for weeks before that. Tearing her eyes away from the blond, Darcy looked up to the stars and continued in a quiet voice. “Thor was worried I would get hurt. But when it became clear that it wasn’t just Steve that I’m interested in, he understood.”

For a long time, Bucky said nothing in response, but she could feel his eyes on her, weighing her words carefully, weighing to see if they were spoken in truth. Darcy was aware of what she had admitted and even though they had tried to have an open conversation earlier, even though she had flat out asked both men on a date-not-date tonight, it still felt a little stilted to be so honest.

“Believe it or not,” Darcy started again, pain ringing through her chest at the thought of the god who had come to mean so fucking much to her. She missed him already. “Thor’s pretty amazing. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. He brought me to the Avengers when anyone else in their right mind would’ve left me behind. But he didn’t and I owe him for that.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know if you realize how much of a lifeline you were for Thor, too,” Steve spoke up at last, the words deep and low in his chest. Darcy couldn’t bring herself to look at him as he spoke. She ran the tip of her index finger through the condensation on her beer, brows pinching tightly. “I was there, I saw it, and I can honestly say that Thor might not have still been around if it weren’t for you, at least not as the Thor we all know. The way I see it, you both needed each other.”

There was a long moment of silence and Darcy’s eyes burned at the same time a dangerous lump began to swell in the base of her throat. It was a deadly combination. She blinked rapidly and sucked on her teeth, willing in away by sheer force. 

_Don’t you dare fucking cry, Darcy Lewis. Pull your shit together._

Desperately searching for something, anything to redirect the course of conversation, Darcy latched onto the first thought that came to her, blurting out in a thick voice, “Let’s play a game. A genie appears and he gives you three magic wishes: what do you wish for?”

Silence.

Darcy swallowed wetly and quickly glanced between the two men. They both had twin expressions of surprise. But this was what she did best, was the only thing she knew how to do when things hit too close for home.

“Well?” She prompted after a minute.

Finally, Steve hummed deep in his throat, squinting thoughtfully, while Bucky on the other hand—

“Hold on. Where does the genie come from?” The dark-haired man asked out of the blue. “What kinda magic are we talkin’ about here?”

Darcy frowned and came up blank. She shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“’Course it does. It affects what I wish for.”

Wracking her mind, Darcy’s eyes flit back and forth before she settled on a firm—“Agrabah. The genie comes from Agrabah.”

“Never heard of it,” Bucky lifted one brow skeptically.

“And you’ve heard of other real-life genies?”

“Not real life,” Bucky shook his head, grabbing another piece of popcorn between his fingers. He tossed it in the air and jerked his head to the right, catching it easily. “Just read a lot of books.”

“He’s a big fan of fantasy, magic, science fiction, and the like,” Steve informed Darcy, slanting an affectionate look at the other man. “Used to read them to me in the evenings and wake me up as a kid in the middle of the night with some crazy scenario or plot he had thought up.”

“Ah, I see,” Darcy nodded sagely. “Well, this genie is good and kind and he is all powerful but there are rules,” she warned the two of them. Bucky straightened, listening closely. “No wishing for more wishes, no bringing someone back from the dead, and the genie can’t make someone fall in love with you.”

“That’s it?”

Darcy narrowed her eyes at Bucky. “Uh-huh.”

He grinned like a cat in the cream, tossing another piece of popcorn in the air. “I’d wish to become a genie then.”

It crunched between his teeth at the same time Darcy groaned.

“Oh god, _no, Bucky_. Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad.”

He laughed, “What’s so bad about it?”

Darcy hunched over, resting her forehead on the palm of her hand. She shook her head morosely. “Because that would mean you’re Jafar and I am not dating a Jafar.”

A pause, then—

“Ja-who?”

“ _Jafar!_ ” Darcy cried out, snapping her head up, and it was clear by the expressions on both men’s faces that they had absolutely no clue as to what she was referencing. That was something she was going to have to fix whenever all of this was over. A Disney marathon was in order. “Trust me, don’t take that route, it’s the super villain route. In fact, I’m not allowing it,” Darcy declared, leaving no room for argument. She gestured towards the blond. “Steve, you go first. Three wishes, name one.”

He watched her for a long moment and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Steve leaned back in his chair, tilting his face up to the glittering sky above.

“A home,” he said, at last. 

There was something almost like longing and not quite sadness in his words, but an odd mixture of the two. 

“Haven’t ever had a place to really call my own, least not one without memories that I would rather forget,” Steve explained, still not looking at the two of them. His voice was very quiet. “I’d want a house in the northwest part of Brooklyn with a big tree in the yard. Maybe a swing there, for kids. Big windows to let the light in, a small space for me to draw. Fireplace for the winter,” and then Steve grinned, slow and soft, as he turned bright blue eyes their way. “A big kitchen and a bigger bed.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Darcy admitted softly, and Steve gave her a wane smile.

“No more fighting,” Bucky added next. He was staring hard down at his lap, his beer resting between his thighs. “I’m tired of it, been tired of it for a long time. I’d be happy if I never had to fight in another damn war ever again.”

Steve made a sound of agreement deep in his throat and then the two men fell silent. Darcy tapped her toes on the ground, twisting her lips back and forth as she thought.

“I know I asked the question originally, but now that I think about it, I’m not sure what I’d wish for,” Darcy admitted, quietly. In reality, she hadn’t been prepared for the route the boys had taken and what she had thought of initially felt superficial in comparison.

“What’s the first thing to pop into your mind?” Steve suggested after a long moment of silence.

Darcy glanced at him and he nodded encouragingly, so she drew in a breath.

_Fuck it, I’m saying it anyway._

“I’d wish for the ability to breathe underwater.”

To her left, Bucky jerked his head up. “What?”

“Yeah, I totally want to be a mermaid,” Darcy nodded nervously. And then the words all but jumped out of her mouth, pouring out between her lips, before she could stop and filter through them. “I was convinced that I was one when I was a kid, too many viewings of _The Little Mermaid_. But seriously though, every time I got in a pool, I would purposefully breathe in as much water as I possibly could, just suck it right in. I was convinced my lungs would adjust and I would transform and grow gills if I could just get enough water in my lungs. Not too smart, I know. I got banned from the local pool because I kept almost drowning.”

The stunned silence from both Steve and Bucky had Darcy’s leg jiggling. In the distance, beyond the Compound, she could hear the crickets chirping in the warm grass as the low music from the speaker changed to a different song.

Then—

“How are you still alive?”

Bucky’s question was completely and utterly serious. He may or may not have been looking at her as though she was slightly deranged and Darcy frowned slightly, thinking about his question and the ridiculous things she did as a child.

“You know,” she started, slowly, and then frowned more, “I’m not sure.”

Silence again.

And then Steve finally _cracked_.

He tipped his head all the way back, looking straight up at the night sky and bellowed out a deep, joyous laugh. His big shoulders shook as his entire body seemed to become one big, burst of laughter. Steve’s hand came up to clutch at his chest while he guffawed and then outright wheezed. 

Mock gasping, Darcy bent and tossed a piece of popcorn at him. “No making fun of my wishes!” 

It bounced off his forehead and landed somewhere behind his chair. When Steve calmed down and finally lowered his head, there was a massive smile on his face and he looked right at her. 

Darcy’s stomach dropped and she lost whatever words she was going to say.

_God, he is so fucking beautiful._

“Shit, she really is you, punk,” Bucky murmured with wide eyes, shaking his head like he was a little afraid.

Steve wiped at the corners of his eyes and nodded, “I told you, jerk.”

Feeling a little giddy, Darcy twirled her ankles, tapping her toes on the ground again, and sipped at her beer. “So, that’s one wish for each. Two more. Who’s next?” Setting her bottle down on the armrest, Darcy clapped twice. “Come on, chop, chop.”

Bucky slanted a look at her, eyes sweeping over her from head to toe in a manner that was far more appraising than anything else.

“Demanding little thing, aren’t ya?”

Darcy opened her mouth, a sassy retort on the tip of her tongue when Steve cut her off—

“You have no idea,” his voice was a grin, slow and sinful.

She whirled on Steve, scoffing, “Oh, don’t act like you didn’t love _every second_ of my demanding self, Steven Grant Rogers.”

Steve’s gaze locked in on Darcy, and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes burned and there was fire in his very words, licking over her skin like flames as he murmured, “You’re goddamn right I did.”

Flushing hotly, Darcy shifted in her chair under his heavy gaze and winced a little. “I wish for the ability to heal people,” she declared. “Anyone of anything. Just… to heal them.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve done?” Bucky asked curiously and Darcy glanced at him. He clarified, “Isn’t that what you’re doing with the stone?”

“Not quite the same.”

He stared at her for a long time, pining her in place, and there was something in his gaze that Darcy couldn’t quite name. The dark-haired man drew in a breath, “It is to me.”

Sometimes, it was almost easy to forget that Bucky was dead not too long ago—that he wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t of grabbed the stone. That alone was a wild thought. Darcy’s throat tightened but she had nothing she could say in response.

After a long moment, Steve spoke up in a soft voice.

“Time. My wish would be that I could stop time or make it stretch or just have more of it. There are some moments that I just want to live in forever.”

Darcy’s heart echoed that wish, aching with the idea of how little time she had left. It was something she was trying not to dwell on too much.

“Well, I wish the fuckin’ Dodgers would move back to Brooklyn where they belong,” Bucky finished off his second beer and set it on the ground next to his first bottle. He grumped out, “Who the hell decided they belonged in goddamn _California?_ ”

Eyeing him, Darcy grinned. “Did you all go to a lot of games?”

“He practically lived at Ebbitts Field every summer. If we couldn’t afford tickets, we’d sneak in. Had to run from security more than once because Buck couldn’t keep his mouth shut and felt like he needed to instruct the players on what to do.”

“Someone needed to make sure they did their jobs,” Bucky muttered at the blond and the two ended up sharing a nostalgic smile over Darcy’s head.

“That’s two wishes,” Darcy informed them. “We have one more and you have to make it a good one.”

Bucky seemed to think for a second, then—

“To be happy and feel like I know my place in this world. To belong, I guess. I was lost for a long time and somedays it still feels like I am—like I lost part of who I was and can never get him back. I just want to know that it was all worth it, or that… that something good can come out of it.”

His words hung between them like the stars above. Darcy remembered, a long time ago, deciding which star was the Bucky Star, and as she looked at the man, living and breathing, she realized she had been right. He was a star—he was something that burned and writhed and yet he was utterly captivating. Bucky was this light that shined in the deepest, most impossible darkness.

Darcy’s voice, when she spoke, was very quiet. “What if you’re the something good?”

Bucky looked at her then and though she didn’t know the man very well, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was truth.

“What if you’re the something good that came out of all that you’ve been through? That you can go through what you did and still be,” Darcy’s eyes burned and her voice grew thick. She cleared her throat, “And still be kind.”

“I’m not kind.” Bucky’s eyes saw into her like armor piercing bullets. His voice, though, was desperate and despairing. “Not really. I’m not even that nice.”

Darcy shifted forward in her seat, wanting for whatever reason, to go to him. Remembering the spell, she inhaled deeply and shook her head.

“Says the man who offered to hunt down Epsom salt for me because I’m a little uncomfortable, or the one who looked at a broken, bleeding girl and convinced her to let him patch up her ruined arm with just a few words. We may not know each other very well, Bucky Barnes, but I know what you are and that is a kind man.”

They were, all of them, quiet for a few minutes. Both men watched her and Darcy, for the first time, did not feel the need to move away from the heavy weight of their penetrating gazes. Something shifted into place, like a piece of a puzzle, though what the final picture was, Darcy had no idea.

It felt like something unnameable and it opened red wings inside of her, turning toward the sun, and though Darcy could not see its face, she believed it wore the expression of hope.

“Looks like she’s got your number, Buck,” Steve said quietly, and Darcy gave a tight smile down at her forgotten bowl of popcorn. “What’s your third wish, sweetheart?”

She thought about that for a second, then—

“Courage.”

It was all Darcy said, all she could bring herself to say, and she realized in that moment that it was all she really wanted. 

Above all else, she wished for courage to walk the path that was ahead of her, to grab that fucking stone again, even if it killed her, because it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. If she was going to die, she wanted to die doing the right thing.

And she was so goddamn _tired_ of being afraid.

Steve was staring solemnly down at his beer when Bucky murmured—

“Your turn, Stevie.”

Steve flicked his bright blue eyes Bucky’s way and swallowed; the sound echoed between the three of them. 

“I’ve got my third wish. It’s this, right here. Both of you,” he said, at last, his voice very low. Darcy tried very hard not to show the emotion she felt raging through her chest at his quiet admission. In their silence, Steve drew in a breath, his voice soft and his words weighty, “This is the sum of all my wishes and dreams.”

For a long time after that, no one said a word. The music lulled them into a soft kind of quiet, like a rainy afternoon curled up with a good book and a hot cup of coffee. A gentle breeze floated over the deck, carrying cooler air from the forest with it and it slid over Darcy’s skin, nothing more than a caress, and yet it lifted goosebumps in its wake.

Despite her teasing earlier, she smiled to herself and grabbed the blanket Bucky had brought, thankful he had brought it in the first place, flicking it out over her lap before carefully curling her legs up under her.

Fingering the soft fabric, Darcy cleared her throat, “I want a fourth wish.”

She skimmed her eyes to Bucky who was already watching her, something unnamable but utterly pleased in his gaze as he took in the way she had curled up. Blushing lightly, not ready to dissect that look, Darcy turned then to Steve and lifted both brows. “It’s one that can be fulfilled tonight.” 

“What’s your wish, Darcy?” Steve asked in a soft, affectionate tone.

She just looked at him for the longest time and then—

“A dance,” she said and added quickly when she saw Steve’s frown. “I choose the music and you two slow dance.”

A beat of silence.

“You don’t really want to see me dance. I can’t do much more than sway. Besides…” Steve paused and something flitted through his face as he flicked his gaze above Darcy’s head before settling back down on her. His forehead wrinkled slightly, “Bucky and I have never danced together before.”

Taken aback, Darcy glanced at Bucky to make sure she had heard Steve correctly, but the dark-haired man wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were burning and locked on Steve.

“Well, that can change then,” Darcy reasoned and turned back to Steve who was now engaged in some kind of silent conversation with the other man. She continued in a quiet but firm voice, feeling more sure of herself than she had at any other point that night. “And it doesn’t matter how good or how awful you are, it’s my wish and it’s what I want. This is a date after all and since _I_ can’t get a dance, I want to watch both of you. I’m sure Bucky can lead, can’t you?”

Without answering her, Bucky slowly unfurled his body and rose from his seat. Darcy watched as he made his way around the table to come to a stop in front of Steve’s chair. Silently, the brunette held out a hand.

“Buck,” Steve said, the name more of a sound than an actual word in his throat. 

The blond flicked his bright blue eyes nervously from Bucky’s hand to the dark-haired man’s calm but determined face.

“You heard the lady, let’s make her wish come true,” Bucky said, and when Steve didn’t move right away, he spoke again, this time so quiet Darcy almost didn’t hear it. “You trust me, Steven?”

Wetting his lips, Steve blinked hard and shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “Of course.”

Bucky grinned, sudden and blinding, and his fingers twitched twice, beckoning the other man.

“Then come on. Give me a dance.”

Narrowing his eyes, Steve finally inhaled and slapped his hand into Bucky’s, letting the other man pull him to his feet. There was something like resignation in Steve’s posture, but Darcy knew better. 

Steve was nervous as hell. 

She wondered then, about the fact that in all the years they had loved one another, how they had never danced. But then again, two men in love in the time they were born was a crime and then war and the ugliness of this world had ripped them apart before they ever got the chance. For all the years that they had been alive, Steve and Bucky had so little of it together and that, of all things, might have been the greatest injustice of them all.

Suddenly, Steve’s wish for time made a lot more sense and hit Darcy harder than she was prepared for.

The two of them deserved all the time in the world, time to explore life together in a world that wasn’t perfect but was a little better than it had been. A world where they were not a crime.

And suddenly, Darcy knew exactly what song she wanted them to dance to.

“FRIDAY,” she started as the two men wandered out to a more open space, fingers intertwined. It took some effort to get the words out around the lump in her throat, but finally, Darcy managed to rasp out, “Please play _Unchained Melody_ by The Righteous Brothers.”

The speaker on the table lit up in response and a second later, the song began. Darcy leaned forward and turned the volume up slightly so they could hear it before settling back under her blanket. 

Steve was shaking his head, “How do we—”

“ _Sh_ , Stevie, ‘s’alright,” Bucky smiled at him in a way that Darcy could only define as love. “Put your hand on my shoulder, like this.” Steve did as Bucky instructed and then the brunette slid his hand around Steve’s waist and tugged him close. Bucky paused, listening to the music, the soulful singing and the slow melody. He tilted his face towards Steve and started to sway the two of them back and forth. “There, move with me and feel the music. You hear it?”

“ _Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch a long, lonely time. And time goes by so slowly and time can do so much, are you still mine?_ ”

Steve swallowed like there was something stuck in his throat, but he nodded after a moment and exhaled, his muscles relaxing slightly.

Watching the two of them, it was obvious Bucky was the experienced dancer, but Darcy thought Steve would be pretty decent himself if he weren’t so self-conscious about it. Their hands were clasped and Bucky tilted his chin, gazing up at Steve who was only slightly taller than him, blue-gray eyes shining even in the darkness. His eyes slid shut as he pulled their hands to his lips and brushed a barely-there kiss across Steve’s knuckles as they swayed.

When he pulled back, Steve was staring down at Bucky. Leaning down, Steve bumped his nose gently against Bucky’s before sealing their lips together in a sweet kiss. The music began to swell and build and Bucky kept them rocking softly back and forth even as Steve slid his hand from Bucky’s shoulder to the back of his head, threading his fingers through Bucky’s long hair to deepen the kiss.

“ _Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea, to the open arms of the sea. Lonely rivers sigh, wait for me, wait for me, I’ll be coming home, wait for me._ ”

Finally, they pulled back and Bucky was murmuring something too quiet for Darcy to hear. All she saw was the way that Steve pressed his cheek into Bucky’s dark hair and their dance transformed into something more like a moving embrace, two mighty oaks swaying in a gentle wind. Despite the tenderness with which they moved, the material on both of their shirts wrinkled under the other’s hands as they clutched at one another in a desperation that Darcy wasn’t sure she had ever experienced. Not like them, at least.

They made a beautiful sight and the music was perfect. Smiling to herself, Darcy tilted her head back and felt something almost like contentment settle deep inside of her. 

Stars twinkled above Steve and Bucky’s heads, like a thousand fireflies on a warm summer night, as they danced and lost themselves in the music and in each other. And she wondered, briefly, if this was how it was supposed to be. If this, this moment, was a glimpse into what love actually was. If it wasn’t in big declarations or in frantic meeting of bodies, but in the soft, quiet moments that no one saw, the silent devotion and swelling of the heart.

If this was what love was, if this is what it looked like, then Darcy thought it was something she would be happy to walk out with both of them, in time.

“ _I need your love, I need your love. God speed your love to me._ ”

Steve and Bucky danced long after the song ended, long after Darcy drifted off to sleep with a smile on her lips and a blanket tucked around her. 

* * *

Lila had loved the rain.

Ever since she was a baby, the girl had been mesmerized; a puddle jumper before she was ever a runner. Come every fall, the bottoms of her jeans were permanently soggy and freezing and stained with mud. She got more colds than any child had the right to contract, but Clint could never bring himself to be upset with her for sneaking out of the house to play in the chilly autumn downpours. Not when it made his baby girl laugh and her skin glow like the warm embers of the fires he would build for them in the evenings. Not when it meant she would crawl into his lap, so small and so fragile and so alive, and he’d wrap a blanket around them both while Laura corralled the boys as they argued over who had more marshmallows in their hot chocolate. Not when she’d fall asleep against his chest and he’d tuck his chin over her damp hair and swear to all that was holy that he would protect this tiny sliver of paradise with his every fucking breath.

Except he hadn’t.

He still had oxygen in his lungs and his family did not.

The world was filled with ugly things. Clint knew that better than most. He didn’t believe in heaven and hell, to him, was more or less the things that people did to one another. But those nights with his family around the fire had been the closest he could get to salvation, the closest he could get to forget the things that he saw, the things that he did. 

And now that they were gone… now that they were _dead_ , he wondered what that meant for him—what it meant for his soul. He wondered how and when it happened, when the judgement had been passed, and he had been damned to stay behind.

Clint Barton was a man raw and blown open these days, like shutters smacking against a window in a storm, splintering in the fury of the wind. 

Tonight was no different.

It was almost raining now, more of a mist than anything else, and it turned his skin slick and shiny, melding with the sheen of sweat already coating him until it was a miserable, humid combination. In the glow of the streetlights against the inky blackness of the sky above, the droplets fell like a million tiny bugs buzzing through the air. 

The irony of it all registered absently in his mind even as he sprinted as fast as his legs could possibly carry him.

Clint’s arms pumped violently, air rushing in and out of his lungs until they were screaming in absolute agony, his boots hit the wet pavement with small explosions of water, like a stone skipping over the smooth surface of a lake. 

He had never run so fast in his goddamn life and yet he knew that it wasn’t going to be fast enough—not from the sounds closing in behind him, the guttural roars, the scraping of claws against the cement, the snapping of teeth gaining on him with every second. 

Splitting off and separating from Natasha to go after a group of monsters on his own had been a mistake. 

Turning off his comm and running for it when he was quickly overwhelmed had been a bigger one. 

He knew that now and he was going to pay for it—with blood. 

He had been so angry though, so filled with white-hot fury, he hadn’t cared about anything else but taking a slice out of the enemy, making them _pay_. It boiled everything under his skin, blistering him into something hard and impenetrable and stupid. 

There wasn’t anywhere he could run, there wasn’t a line he could break where the team would be waiting for him. He was on his own, running blindly, unable to pause his desperate sprint for even the shortest instant to load his bow and get a shot off. Pulse pounding in his throat, in his temples, behind his eyes, Clint knew he couldn’t keep this up—not long enough to stay alive.

The galloping horde was closing in and the street was coming to an end.

A vicious snarl rippled behind him and then there was a sharp, searing pain slicing along the back of his thigh, ripping his skin open. A scream tore loose in his chest, cracking through the silent street like a whip, bouncing off the buildings in a pain-laced echo. Hot blood poured down his leg and his sprint faltered, knee collapsing even as his muscles still tried to carry him to the end of the street. But the pain made him trip up and soon he was tumbling head over heel.

Abruptly, Clint was convinced, this was it: this was how he was going to die. He wouldn’t get up from this one, didn’t stand a fucking chance. 

The mist transformed into a downpour, soaking him clean through, and all Clint could think as he fell, as the monsters leapt for his throat was—

_Lila had loved the rain._

It was her face he saw as the world pinwheeled; it was her laugh he heard as he reached for an arrow, body colliding in a jarring blow with the hard cement.

Flat on his back, the last thing Clint saw was talons and teeth and wide, open jaws inches away from his face—

 _BOOM_.

The monster exploded in a shower of guts and blood. Clint flinched back as its head burst above him, splattering his face and chest in filth. Foreign, metallic blood filled his mouth and he gagged, spitting. The other creatures coiled to their feet instead of descending on his fallen form. Eyeless heads snapped up, growls clicking and rolling through their mottled chests as they stared at something in the distance beyond where Clint had fallen. The archer twisted around, panting, eyes rounded in shock.

About a hundred feet behind him was a grim-faced man Clint had never seen before. 

He was big and angry with thick, dark hair lining his arms and curling wildly atop his head. The shirt he wore was torn and splattered with dried blood and he carried a shotgun in his hands, walking calmly down the middle of the street towards the monsters. He pumped it once, a quick snap of his capable hands, and then turned his body sideways and lifted it to his shoulder.

 _Click-click—BOOM_.

Another one was blasted away, knocked backwards from the impact of the buckshot with a dying grunt. Snapping back to himself, Clint didn’t wait to find out who his rescuer was, he twisted back around and shot off a quick succession of arrows from where he was splayed on the ground, one knee bent, torso curling upwards, teeth bared. Between him and the mystery man, the monsters began to drop like flies until there was only one left.

It didn’t have the sense of self-preservation to turn and run like Clint would have expected. No, this creature was beyond reason, crazed, and he watched it rear up on its hindlegs and launch itself at the man steadily approaching.

The burly stranger didn’t even flinch as he pumped his shotgun and lifted it with expertise. Steady, he pulled the trigger and the monster jerked back violently in mid-air, like it had slammed into a brick wall, before falling to the ground with a lifeless, sickening _thump_.

Clint was still on the ground and he couldn’t tell if his face was wet from the rain or from the blood or from both. Panting, he swept his arm across his eyes, clearing his vision.

The streetlight caught on the wet barrel of the gun, glinting in the darkness. The man’s eyes were sweeping over the street, wary, his bearded mouth tight and turned down at the corners. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and gruff. 

“Any more of those fuckers?”

“Plenty,” Clint told him and struggled to his feet, grunting. “But I think we got the ones that were chasing me.” 

He hissed as he put weight on his leg. The skin stretched and so did the gash and another gush of hot blood rushed down the back of his leg. Clint fell forward, screwing his eyes shut. 

A big, rough hand gripped him under his arm, shaking him a little as the stranger hoisted him to unsteady feet.

“Yeah, speaking of that, what kind of fucking idiot are you?” The man asked as though he were the stupidest man on earth and maybe he really was. Before Clint could answer, the man seemed to notice for the first time the bow in his hands. And then he recoiled. “ _Shit_. You’re one of them.”

Clint grit his teeth and limped over to the dead creatures.

“One of who?”

He yanked an arrow out of a throat. One it was free, he inspected it, glad to see the tip still intact. Clint went about gathering the rest of his arrows, feeling the eyes of the man tracking his every move. 

There was a long moment of silence. Then—

“ _An_ _Avenger_.”

The venom in the stranger’s voice gave Clint pause. The archer stilled and then slowly slid his eyes over to the man. He could send and arrow through his eye faster than the man could get off a shot if he needed to. But the stranger didn’t move to fight, he merely had tucked his shotgun in the crook of his elbow, lip curling in a simmering kind of anger. 

“It’s about damn time you all got here. Welcome to the fuckin’ Bronx.”

* * *

The small fishing village was tucked away in between green, rolling hills and black cragged rock. It was still and silent, as though in the deepest of sleeps. Beyond was the ever-churning sea, a dark and glittering abyss in the late hours of the night. Salt rode the gusts of bitingly cold wind as it blew through the docks and rustled Jane’s hair, pulling strands of it loose and whipping them across her face. 

She reached up, blindly, to grab as much of it as she could to tuck it away behind her ears. What she should have done was brought a hair tie. If Darcy were here—

_But she’s not here. Darcy is back at the Compound about to do something absolutely insane—something that might kill her—and you won’t even be there to help her._

Jane’s chest panged at that thought, hard and vicious enough that she couldn’t help but reach up and rub at it. Not for the first time, she wondered if they should have brought Darcy with them. Darcy belonged with them, after all, with her and Thor. She was an integral part of their little family and Jane loved her like she was her own blood. 

Deeper even.

But then Jane thought back to the odd thing forming between Darcy and Captain America and the Winter Soldier of all people and Jane wondered for the briefest of seconds if, maybe, Darcy didn’t belong with her and Thor at all, but rather with the two super soldiers.

She had never let herself think of that before and now that she did, Jane found that she wasn’t a fan of it. Darcy was her best friend and Jane had always been a little territorial over what was hers.

If either of those men wanted Darcy, they’d better damn well be ready to prove to Jane that they deserved her.

“How many are still alive?”

Thor’s deep, rumbling voice shook Jane from her thoughts. He and Loki walked just ahead of her, like two pillars of a mighty temple. They had made their way down from the cliff, following the God of Mischief’s leading into the falling twilight. The entire way, Thor carried both Mjolnir and Stormbreaker with the ease of a seasoned warrior and with his new haircut, he truly looked like something to fear. Loki, on the other hand, was silk and shadow and though Thor at first glance appeared to be the scarier of the two, there was something about Loki that was cunning at his very core.

He chilled Jane down to the bone.

“Twelve-hundred strong,” the raven-haired god murmured, his boots making a soft tapping sound on the wooden dock they followed a wide path towards the center of the village. 

Thor came to a stop, whipping his head up, expression one of quiet alarm. “That is all?” When Loki didn’t respond right away, the God of Thunder nearly staggered under the reality. His face crumpled. “So few… so few of our people are left.”

A deep silence followed. Then—

“Thanos did not leave many alive. We are lucky even to have this,” the words were grave and soft as the night surrounding them. Loki turned slightly and all Jane could see was his sharp, angular profile. There was a flicker of rage in his eyes as he stared at Thor. It burned, but not with heat, no, this was icy and terrible and wholly unforgiving. “He will answer for his evil deeds. We will make him, brother.”

Jane shivered at the promise lying beneath those words.

“How many are strong enough to fight?” Thor asked next, mouth twisting as if the question tasted sour on his lips.

“I’m not sure,” Loki admitted and then his eyes flicked to the side and stayed there as something steely came over him. “You can direct your questions to our old friend.”

Both Jane and Thor turned and caught sight of the group of armed soldiers marching their way towards them with lanterns and torches. The yellow light flickered in the harsh wind and with their firm steps but even in the dimness, they could see the grim expressions. 

It was not the welcoming party Jane had expected from Thor’s people after they had not seen him for so long.

At the head of the formation was a woman, short but strong. She carried herself with utter confidence and the smooth gait of a warrior. There was a sword at her side and her hand gripped the hilt as they approached.

As soon as they were close enough, Loki opened his mouth, but the woman cut him off with a harsh—

“We have trouble.”

Emerald eyes simmered and Loki lifted on delicate dark brow. “That is not quite the greeting I was expecting, Valkyrie.”

“I don’t have time for your antics,” she snapped at the god, baring her teeth. Her muscles tensed as she turned to Thor. Pursing her lips, her brows pinched as she inhaled, “I’m sorry, Thor, but this is urgent.”

The woman, Valkyrie, Jane supposed, turned back to Loki. Her jaw clenched. “It’s your prisoner.”

Loki’s face did not change, but something very dark swam in his eyes that made Jane’s skin crawl.

“What about him?” The god asked, dangerously soft.

Valkyrie just stared at Loki for the longest time. Then—

“He’s escaped.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruh-roh. Bad guys be badding. Thank you to all of you lovely folk who have kept me afloat with all the support and love and of course, thank you extra for the patience with me as my brain took a much needed breather between recent updates.
> 
> *A note: I am aware that Valkyrie is also called Brunnhilde. I wasn’t sure which was the proper way to refer to her, so I chose Valkyrie.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) <3


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, vulnerable moment here: writing with depression is hard (depression is just hard in general). I'm proud of myself for not deleting shit and for continuing to write anyway. That being said, I am excited where things are going. This whole story is like a giant chessboard with so many pieces coming into play. It's fun to see it all working together <3

“You’re going to need to get that looked at.”

Clint slowly lifted his head. His hand was frozen, fingers wrapped around the shaft of an arrow still imbedded deep in the throat of one of the monsters. Blood—dark, red, and rich—steadily pooled on the ground around his feet like an oil spill. 

He raised both eyebrows expectantly and the stranger merely gestured to the leg he was hobbling around on. 

Turning back to the dead creature, Clint yanked the arrow from its neck with a wet _squelch_. A dank smell wafted up from the bodies, like a half-dried creek or water left sitting still in a sink for too long. Wrinkling his nose, he straightened with a grimace and stuck the last of his stray arrows in the quiver strapped to his back, all the while, keenly aware of the sharp, stabbing pain and rush of hot blood gliding down the back of his thigh.

“You a doctor?” Clint grunted, slinging his bow across his body. 

Rain continued to tumble from the sky in big, fat drops (the kind Lila would have danced in). Through the downpour, the stranger’s eyes met his, the man’s expression made of stone—hard, mean, bitter, unmovable stone. He was squinting at Clint as raindrops plopped on his forehead and cheeks and eyelashes and for the life of him, the archer had no idea what he was thinking.

Then—

“Do I look like a fuckin’ doctor to you?”

It wasn’t really a question, but Clint flicked his eyes over the man briefly anyway. 

He took in the barrel chest and rounded belly and the thin, blood-stained t-shirt stretched over the stranger like a second skin; dark salt and pepper colored hair curled and frizzed atop his head—as untidy as his beard. The black sneakers he wore had seen better days. In his youth, he must have been well muscled because even in his age now, though his limbs were rounded, softer, meatier, it was clear there was strength in him. 

“I’ve got a first aid kit back at my shop,” the stranger spoke up suddenly. He kept his shotgun tucked away in the crook of his elbow and the long, dark barrel glinted menacingly in the yellowed streetlight above. The man’s dark eyes flicked down to Clint’s leg. “We can at least patch you up.”

Clint didn’t know who ‘we’ was and his hesitation must have shown because the stranger gave a short, humorless laugh that was more of an exasperated exhale than anything else.

“Listen, I’m not gonna cook you and eat you. More of those nasty motherfuckers are going to come back any minute and I don’t plan on being here when they do. Now, _I’m_ going back to my shop, you can come with me or stay out here all night and get picked off, your choice. But remember this: I’m only saving your stupid ass once.”

And then the son of a bitch turned on his heel and began to amble away into the middle of the street like he was strolling home from church on a Sunday afternoon with nothing in the world but time and ease.

Glancing back at the pile of dead creatures, Clint made a split decision.

“What’s your name?” He called out as he limped after the stranger.

The man slowed his steps and Clint felt his dark eyes move from his wounded leg to his face. 

“Ray.” His voice was deep and gruff, like it had been tossed down a garbage disposal to be shredded. 

He didn’t offer Clint a hand to shake, but that was alright. Ray had done a hell of a lot more by saving his life.

“I’m Clint.”

“What, no superhero name?” Ray quipped and, in another time, another place, Clint would have had some snarky reply. Now, he came up empty. It was like someone had reached inside of him and scooped out everything he was leaving behind the hollow shell of a man.

He shook his head. “Just Clint.”

Ray spared him a searching look and said nothing more. They continued walking.

Despite the commotion moments earlier, the street was silent as a grave. Where Ray kept running a meaty hand over his face to clear away the rain, Clint didn’t even bother. His entire focus was on the ghost town they walked, the silent buildings and darkened windows, the breathing shadows along the stoops and alleyways. He fingered the glock strapped to his waist, on high alert for any sign of a threat.

By the time they reached the end of the street, the rushing surge of adrenaline had begun to dwindle and with it, any form of pain tolerance. It was like white hot electricity rippling through his entire leg and soon he could hardly put any weight on it. 

Clint knew he was lucky the creature hadn’t managed to hamstring him, let alone tear him completely to shreds. Still, the back of his pantleg was soaked with blood and he felt it in his boot, squishing with every agonizing step.

Ray turned the corner and stepped over the curb onto the sidewalk. “C’mon,” he rumbled quietly. “It’s not far.” 

The small corner store, like every other building on the street, appeared lifeless. The words: _Gallo Family Grocer_ was painted in big red lettering on an aging white sign with a large crack running up from the bottom right corner. The windows were dark and there was no front door except for a large panel of wood. 

Ray didn’t say a word, merely slapped his shoulder with the back of his hand and pointed at the store. Clint didn’t have time or the energy to ask what happened to the door, not when he was getting a little dizzy from the blood loss. A big hand latched onto his upper arm in a grip like steel, so hard it almost hurt, and Clint started, inhaling sharply through his nose, fire jolted up and down his leg. 

Slanting a look at the archer, Ray’s grip softened, just the slightest, as he helped him up the small step to the makeshift door.

Knuckles wrapped on it twice and stopped before hitting it a third time when there was shuffling and murmurs suddenly on the other side. Clint swallowed and tried to stay on his feet. His head spun and the adrenaline totally disappeared, like water going down a drain, leaving him wrung out and exhausted.

With an ear-grating screech, the heavy wood was hauled away, scraping along the scratched tiled floor. Ray barged inside the pitch-black space the second it was open, dragging Clint along with him, and multiple pairs of shoes scuffled out of their way. Before Clint could even gather his surroundings, the wooden panel was quickly replaced over the gaping doorway effectively shutting out any glow from the streetlight outside and enclosing the shop entirely in darkness.

With his eyesight suddenly and completely gone, some deep buried instinct had Clint pulling his gun, his heart pounding.

He had just run for his life, he didn’t know where he was, who he was with—

And then a small lantern carefully bloomed to life. 

The light was low and flickering and above it, frightened eyes the color of springtime leaves stared out of a young, pale face. Beyond that face were the shadows and shapes of many others, countless others.

“Are they gone?”

“For now,” Ray said in his deep, sandpaper voice. And then all eyes turned to Clint, to the gun in his hand and the blood covering his face and neck and dripping from his pantleg onto the grimy floor. Ray scowled at the gun and grabbed the barrel, forcefully lowering it. “Put that down, there’s kids here.”

Clint blinked, confused and uncomprehending, but he holstered his gun as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. It was like waking up; his vision blurry, and the more he blinked, the clearer it became. 

The first thing to register in Clint’s mind was the stuffiness. 

The air was warm and muggy due to the body heat. Shadowed along the walls and in the aisles were piles of blankets and sleeping bags and makeshift beds. The shop was packed with people, most of them looked to be in their thirties but some were elderly and some a lot younger—Clint saw a little boy, probably around six years old, holding the hand of what had to be his grim faced father. Most of the people were armed with bats and crowbars and hammers and what looked to be about anything that could be turned into a weapon. And all of them were staring right at Clint.

It was the strangest sensation in the world for the archer to be surrounded by _people_ once again. 

Even in the Compound when there had been crowds, it was just the team, and most of them did their own thing. They didn’t really gather outside of meetings and team meals. But there was something about the bodies pressing in on all sides now that was almost comforting, the dirty, sweaty smell, the rustling of clothing and the occasional cough. The mother with the low ponytail and the scar on her cheek, the man in his fifties with deep, grooving lines running from his nose to his mouth, the teen with the dimple on her left cheek; these were citizens, regular people that he and the other Avengers were supposed to protect.

_People like my family._

It hit him with the physical impact of a bullet and Clint staggered on his feet, a low groan escaping his lips. His leg throbbed with the sudden movement and he felt his heartbeat in the wound as pain clawed at the edges of his mind. Ray just barely caught him before his could topple over.

“ _Easy_.”

“—wait a second,” came a voice from the crowd and Ray frowned, eyes flashing to the source of the voice. “I know him. That’s… he’s an Avenger! Holy shit. That’s _Hawkeye!_ What’s he doing here—are we—are we just supposed to pretend like he didn’t abandon us with the rest of them?” 

The people turned, staring at Clint openly, and not all of them were happy. 

Ray kept hard eyes on the man who’d spoken. “Shut your goddamn mouth,” he snapped. “So what if he’s an Avenger? I wouldn’t give a flying fuck if he was the Queen of England. He’s injured. He needs our help and we’re going to give it to him.”

 _He needs our help. Jesus fuck,_ Clint wanted to laugh because never in his life had he ever needed to be saved by civilians but here he was. 

There were a few moments of quiet as the man seemed to consider Ray’s words, and then he said, “Alright then,” and that was the end of it. That spoke volumes to Clint, both of the people here but also of Ray—his word was enough for them and it was clear that he was well respected.

“We need the first aid kit,” Ray started and then tilted his chin up, trying to see over the heads of the people gathered. “And somebody get Gayle.”

Swiftly, they dispersed while some merely stepped back to give them a bit of breathing space. Gradually a few more old camping lanterns were lit revealing a whole slew of people that Clint hadn’t seen huddling together towards the back of the shop. Mostly the elderly and the very young. 

And from the admiration and loyalty shining bright in their eyes as they watched Ray, Clint wondered if he wasn’t the only one the shop owner had come upon in a moment of great need.

“We’ve got water and some food,” Ray was saying. “Nothing hot, but it’ll do,” and his voice in Clint’s ears sounded like he was speaking underwater.

The archer grasped for the words as he stared at the sheer amount of people in this shop but all that came out was, “Did you save all of these people?”

A pause.

“All but one.”

Ray didn’t look at him as he spoke, inspecting a case of ammunition on the small counter instead with a startling kind of intensity and Clint knew better than to ask any further.

There was murmuring behind him and Clint snapped back to himself. The crowd parted and a woman stepped through, a small lantern swung in one hand and a red and white first aid kit was tucked under her other arm. Her dark skin turned bronze in the flickering yellow light and her brown eyes glittered. Full lips pressed together, tugging downward, and her brows pinched.

She stared right at Clint with a look of absolute steel.

“This is Gayle,” Ray appeared back at Clint’s side and the archer nodded at her. She didn’t nod back. “She’ll take care of you. I’ll get you some food and water.”

Ray’s body momentarily blocked out the light as he squeezed between the two of them to head towards another part of the shop. It didn’t go past Clint’s notice the way that he reached out and softly squeezed Gayle’s thin shoulder as he passed. 

Her eyes suddenly glistened but she quickly blinked it away, never once turning her gaze from Clint.

“Can you walk?” The woman sniffed once, her voice a low thing. 

He dipped his chin. “Yes.”

Satisfied, she silently led him through the packed shop, weaving through the crowd to what looked like a small storage room in the back. She pushed open the swinging door and nearly blinded Clint.

The overhead light was a sharp contrast to the darkness of the rest of the shop and the archer reeled back from the sudden onslaught. His eyes screwed shut and he lifted a blood splattered hand to block out the brightness. It was an interior room within the shop, there were no windows, making it the safest spot to use actual lighting and not the dim camping lanterns they all seemed to have. Brows pinching, Clint wondered at the overwhelming scent of bleach, eyes roving over the tiny room. The floor was sparkling compared to the rest of the dingy shop and in the center of it was an old drain, as though this room had once been an old kitchen or bathroom. 

“It’s best to treat the injured in here,” Gayla explained. “It’s away from the children and easier to clean up the blood.”

Clint lifted his head. 

“That why it reeks of bleach?”

She nodded and inhaled, “We do our best to make sure it stays as clean as possible. We don’t have a lot of options, but this has suited us well so far.”

His eyes slowly drifted back to that drain and his stomach clenched.

There was a solid _clunk_ as Gayle set the lantern down on a reflective metal counter. The first aid kit followed next and Clint’s eyes skimmed across the space to the multiple bottles of alcohol lining the wall. 

Gayle grabbed a bottle of cheap vodka and uncapped it, handing it to him brusquely. Clint took it and lifted one brow. Her mouth tightened.

“We don’t have pain medication beyond Tylenol,” she pointed to the bottle Clint was now gripping by the neck. “You’re going to need that. Drink up.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The vodka burned as he gulped and gulped and gulped it down and he felt it flow into his belly like liquid fire, warming him from the inside out. He stopped drinking only when he started to cough, eyes watering, and blindly handed the bottle back to Gayle as he scraped the back of his hand over his mouth.

Carefully, Clint lowered himself down on the floor with Gayle’s instruction to lie down on his belly. He grunted and stretched out and rolled over, resting on his forearms; the sterilized scent of bleach nearly choked him, burning his nostrils. He listened as Gayle moved around behind him, snapping open the plastic top of the first aid kit. Things rustled around for a bit, like she was digging through for supplies, and then he felt her brush against the side of his thigh as she knelt.

“That looks painful.”

Clint started to snort but winced instead when gentle but prodding fingers tugged at the torn material of his pants surrounding his wound. He wheezed out, “It feels pretty painful.”

She poked and prodded some more and Clint focused on breathing—the rush of chemically sterilized air into his lungs and out through his parted lips. He didn’t say anything as Gayle began cutting away at the material of his pants, peeling it back from his tender, oozing skin.

“You need stitches.” She hissed, as though she were the one in pain. “I’ve…” Gayle paused and there was a catch in her voice. “I’ve been helping with the wounded, but I’ve never done stitches before.”

Clint went still. 

“Have you ever mended a tear in your clothes?”

“Yes.”

A beat of silence.

“Then you can do stitches.”

Gayle’s eyes were a burn on the back of his neck.

“Easier said than done,” she huffed and slapped her palms on her thighs.

Pushing up onto his elbows, Clint twisted his torso slightly and caught her eye over his shoulder. He held her gaze for a long moment, the vodka already giving him a slight buzz, before muttering darkly, “Just pretend it isn’t skin.”

They just stared at each other.

“It needs to be cleaned first,” Gayle warned him. “It’ll hurt.”

Clint gave a sharp nod and turned back around, resting his chin on his folded arms and tried not to tense his muscles, but it was useless. “I can handle it.” 

That was a goddamn lie.

Gayle gave no other warning before pouring what must have been half a fucking bottle of alcohol on his open wound. Clint surged upwards, a shout punching from his chest, hands clawing uselessly at the tiled floor. The edges of his vision shimmered, like static snow on old televisions.

His mouth wrenched open; a vein popped in his reddening forehead. “ _Motherfucker_ —”

“My son was a big fan, you know,” Gayle said suddenly in a quiet voice and Clint almost didn’t hear her. He shuddered, slowly exhaling the shaky breath that had locked in his chest. Sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down the middle of his back. Unintentional tears pricked in his eyes.

Gayle kept talking.

“He loved the Avengers, especially Captain America,” there was pressure on his wound as she spoke, gentle but insistent. “He believed in you, believed in what you stood for, that there could be something intrinsically good and heroic in people. That we could be _more_.”

Something about what she said gave his mind, even in the thick fog of pain, pause. And then it clicked. 

_He believe_ d _. Not believes._

Clint’s chest clenched, heart swelling with an emotion that had no name, and his eyes slowly slid shut, face crumpling.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, shaking from the pain, but also from something else entirely. “For your son.”

He turned his head then, a trembling, sweaty mess, and he met her gaze. Gayle stilled her gloved hands, the stark white gauze she held against his wound quickly filling with brilliant red. And it was like she saw through to the marrow of Clint’s bones. On the outside, she was ordinary, but right then, at that moment, Gayle glittered and gleamed and burned with a fire that was almost holy.

“None of us are escaping this unscathed,” she told him and her voice refused to break despite the brightness of her eyes. Gayle tossed aside the gauze into a growing, bloody pile. “By the looks of it, that includes you.”

It was a long time before Clint was able to speak again. 

Long enough that Gayle reached for the curved surgical needle, holding it up to the light, like someone would when they admire a diamond. She scooted closer, her brows pinched together until a sharp wrinkle appeared in the middle of her forehead. Needle in hand, she inwardly steeled herself, and then reached for his leg.

Clint turned back around, clenching his jaw. 

The stitches were a brutal process. In part because of the utter lack of numbing (despite the vodka) but also because of the halting, unsure hands threading together his split skin. At least it was a clean slice, not a jagged mess. Clint didn’t say a word throughout the whole process, wouldn’t dare. He’d take it and… in a way, Clint almost enjoyed it.

In some sick part of his brain, he liked the pain. 

Deserved it, even. 

Because of his family. Because of Gayle’s son. Because of _so many_.

“We’ll make Thanos pay,” Clint told her (or told himself?) eventually and his voice wasn’t exactly shaking, but it was close to it. “I swear we will.” 

“And blind vengeance is supposed to fix everything?” Gayle asked, the words careful and guarded and quiet as she worked. “Look at where it got you, separated from your team and bleeding out on this floor.” 

Clint couldn’t bring himself to respond, didn’t trust his voice in the slightest. 

“Everyone who loses someone wants revenge on somebody, on God if they can’t find anyone else,” she rushed out. “And a lot of times, in the end, we end up losing ourselves in the process. We become the very thing we first hated. We let despair win and it turns us into something else entirely.” Gayle murmured, keeping her voice very low. “Ray, that man who saved your life tonight? He wasn’t always like this. His wife died years ago, and her death, the grief of it, turned him into an angry fool, a bitter, mean son of a bitch. But in these last few days, it’s like something is changing in him. He’s not perfect, but something is… different. I… I think he’s figured it out, _that_ man of all people.”

Clint kept his back to her, staring straight ahead. “Figured out what?”

“That vengeance, no matter how successful, won't heal your grief.” 

The skin on his thigh tugged as she pulled the last of the stitches through and Clint realized that he had stopped noticing the pain, it was overshadowed by the thing crawling beneath his skin, lifting its head and staring at Gayle with piercing eyes.

“Ray saved us—all of us. This shop is filled with people he risked his life for. He’s just a regular man, no superpowers, no super strength, nothing on his side to give him an advantage. And yet he keeps helping, keeps going out, keeps bringing more in. He was... he was drowning before, but now?” Gayle tied off the thread and then quickly snipped the remaining piece with a pair of small scissors. “Now every time Raymond Gallo leaves this place to go save someone, he’s saving a piece of himself, too.”

Clint swallowed wetly and carefully turned to look back at her.

Blood stained Gayle’s fingertips and stray strands of hair framed her thin face. Her eyes were dark and burning under furrowed brows but there was truth in them, too, a hard, angular sort of truth and a flash of something that might have been hope—

“You might be an Avenger, but you’re not the only hero.”

“Is that what you’re doing, too—saving yourself?” The question left his lips before he could stop it. He felt it, deep in the pit of his stomach, something clawing and desperate and so fucking fragile. 

“Yes.” There was no shame in her voice. “Or at least I’m trying to.”

“Is it… is it working?” 

She searched his face for a long time. “I don’t know yet.”

Clint’s voice, when he spoke next, was thick. “Your son. What was his name?”

Gayle gave him a wane smile.

“Marshall.”

* * *

“What do you mean he _escaped?_ ” Loki asked in a soft hiss, every word a threat.

The God of Mischief glowered at Valkyrie and she rose to the challenge, narrowing her eyes right back at him, utterly unimpressed. 

“Exactly how it sounds, would you rather I spelled it out for you?” She said each word slowly, lifting both brows as though he were an imbecile and Loki bristled. “ _He’s gone_. The chains are still intact, none of my guards are missing, there is no sign of a forced exit. It’s as though he were a wraith and walked through the prison walls.”

It took everything in Loki’s considerable power to keep his face perfectly blank. Centuries of practice was the only thing that made it possible. Because inwardly, the god was seething like a firedrake, roaring molten hot lava pumped through his veins.

He was also panicked and trying very hard not to show it.

“Loki,” Thor stepped closer, Mjolnir and Stormbreaker clutched tightly in his hands. “What is going on?” 

“You heard her, brother,” Loki murmured, not turning to look at Thor. “A prisoner… a very dangerous prisoner has escaped.” 

“Yes, I heard that,” Thor snapped, “and I am asking _who._ ”

The silence that followed was deathly quiet. 

At Thor’s side, Jane was surprisingly (and wisely) silent, amber eyes flickering back and forth. It was Valkyrie though who slanted a glance at Loki, to which he utterly ignored, his mind racing at a speed so great the world was a blur. His blood felt like it was buzzing beneath his skin, his heart pounding.

Valkyrie turned to Thor. “A vile creature,” the goddess bared her teeth and they glinted even in the dark. “A Child of Thanos. The sorcerer, Ebony Maw.”

Reeling back, Thor stared at her for the longest time, his mouth falling open. And then he turned his incredulous gaze to Loki, something like betrayal flickering in his eyes. Schooling his features, Loki stared hard at the ground and lifted both brows in delicate arches, taking refuge in his signature aloofness. 

In the distance, thunder rumbled and lightning jumped from cloud to cloud over the rolling sea. The raven-haired god lifted his gaze to the gathering storm and then to Thor.

“Calm yourself, brother,” he said, his chest twisting and clenching, despite his cool tone, “and let me think.”

A bolt of lightning struck the ocean.

“ _Loki_.”

The raven-haired god rolled his eyes and slanted an angry, impatient look at his older brother. “I am well aware that you do not approve of my methods but to properly deceive Thanos, to bring you a blasted _infinity stone_ , I had to take the creature whose form I was masquerading around in as prisoner.”

“Why? Why take the risk?” Thor all but exploded and Loki grit his teeth at having this conversation in front of the guards who were not even trying to hide their staring at the feuding royalty. “Why did you not just end his life and be done with it?”

_And this is where we part ways, brother._

“Because I still had use for him.”

Thor lurched closer, his voice dropping into a low growl. “ _What_ use?”

 _His knowledge of the darker arts is extensive and anyone would be a fool to throw away such a valuable resource_ , is what Loki wanted to say, instead, he slithered out a haughty, “That is my own business.”

Between the two of them, it was Thor who could never master his emotions and it proved to be true now. The blatant hurt that flashed across his brother’s face was so violent, it looked physical.

Loki had been a fool to think that things between he and Thor could be mended, a fool to think things could be _better_. A fool to think a mere apology was enough. They were far too different, Loki would never be good like Thor, never pure in motive—good for the sake of being good. It was not in his nature. 

And yet, Thor made him want to be good and the fact that he wasn’t, that he could never be, was a poison in his heart.

“You’ve put all of us in danger, you do realize that don’t you?” 

It was with luxurious slowness that Loki turned his head and stared directly at Jane. For all that Thor infuriated him, Loki could deal with his brother’s questioning.

But Jane Foster was no Thor.

Loki’s patience was wearing thin and the last thing he needed was to hear her grating voice. He had had enough. Jane’s thin mouth was set in a hard line and the God of Mischief coiled up like a large snake, the power that constantly crawled beneath his skin slithering to the surface as he locked his gaze squarely on her. Most knew him as the God of Mischief, but nearly all forgot that Loki Laufeyson was also Chaos incarnate.

And this tiny human woman had the _audacity_ to question him. 

Perhaps she should be reminded of who he truly was.

The air around them shifted, oxygen sucked away, and the wind that had been swirling in gusts on the docks came to a complete, eerie standstill in the wake of his magic. Loki’s eyes, he knew, were glowing in an otherworldly green.

Next to Jane, Thor’s face resembled something like thunder and his brother moved to stand in between Jane and Loki, to shield and protect her from the danger she unknowingly stepped into. But before he could, Jane shoved Thor away, as though she were anticipating his move, and the tiny, insignificant human woman took three swift, angry steps forward.

A challenge. 

Delicate feet marched right up to him until she was close enough that they shared the same breath. Loki’s gaze did not falter and the predatory focus in which he stared her down dared her to do something stupid, like striking him across the face as she had once before. 

And yet, she didn’t tremble, didn’t flinch. 

Jane Foster was tiny, barely reaching his chest, and was physically unthreatening and unimpressive, but she tilted her stubborn chin up and met his gaze without fear.

Loki refused to look away first, refused to give this human woman an ounce of power. He bent down so that their eyes were on the same level and he studied her. She was coiled tighter than a spring, her pupils dilated and the vein in her neck pulsing. 

“What do you want, Jane Foster.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “Your prisoner escaped.”

“I’m aware,” Loki answered in a dangerously soft voice. 

“You put Darcy in even more danger.” The god’s face did not change, but Jane smiled. It was not a beautiful sight, but it was captivating nonetheless, in the way that great and terrible things inherently captivated Loki. There was something almost ruthless in the woman that Loki had never seen before and it was baring its fangs at him now. “We all know that she will be Thanos’ first target if he finds out that she can open the Soul Stone. And, as you said, that monster’s most dangerous servant just walked free because of _your_ clumsiness. I won’t forget this.”

Those last four words were a promise and Loki wondered if she would try to kill him someday. He wondered if he might enjoy her attempt.

He straightened up and then, to everyone’s surprise, Loki began to laugh. 

“ _Ooh_ , well played, Jane. I like this side of you.”

Jane said nothing but her eyes burned.

“If something happens to our dear stonekeeper—”

“—her name is _Darcy_ —”

“—as a result of this, then I will give you ample opportunity to take your revenge out on my flesh. In fact, I’ll lay there willingly and we will both see what you are truly capable of.”

That was clearly not the answer Jane expected and it showed. 

She flinched back and blinked and whatever spell had fallen over them broke, shattering like glass. The pieces of it scattered to the wind, carried away as it began to wash over them in waves once more. Loki shifted backwards and veiled his power, stuffing it back under his skin and barricading it behind a wall of black adamant. It was not often he unleashed himself. His muscles relaxed and Jane took a step back from him, breathing heavily through parted lips, her eyes wide and rounded.

Loki watched her and thought about her words, about the stonekeeper, the woman with hair of midnight, the one whose soul the stone had chosen for its purity of intent, the one who carried his mother’s spell over her skin, and he frowned.

Despite their game, Jane was _right_ —gods be damned.

“Keeping Ebony Maw alive was a mistake. I know that now,” Loki admitted slowly, the words dragging from him. He met Jane’s eyes once more. “Darcy will have a difficult enough path ahead of her. You are right, we need to contact the others and inform them of what has transpired. They need to be on their guard. I will go to the prison myself and see if I can find any trace of Maw.”

Jane stared at him, weighing his words, inspecting them under a microscope of suspicion. Whatever she found must have satisfied her because she nodded, expression severe and solemn.

There was a beat of silence and then—

“That was impressive,” Valkyrie commented dryly from the side, crossing her arms over her chest. “And not to mention, _so_ dramatic.” She lifted one brow and despite the tension in the air, quirked her lips at Thor. “How did you manage to find a human with fire in her bones?”

Loki saw something very much like pride swell in his brother’s gaze as he stared down at Jane. 

“She found me.”

* * *

It was like being turned inside out.

The Jotun had tried to strip him of his magic. He nearly succeeded in doing so and for that, he would kill him one day, this would-be trickster, the fallen prince of Asgard. He would take him apart piece by piece. _Slowly_. Intricately. He would pluck the hair from his head, the eyes from his face; he would peel back the nails from his fingers and toes, the skin from his flesh, and he would make sure Loki Laufeyson was alive for the entire process. And when he begged for death, he would deny him. 

After all, Ebony Maw was nothing if not patient.

He had sat for weeks, spelled chains encasing his hands and his feet. Every attempt at escape, every attempt at using his own magic tightened the manacles until he couldn’t feel his limbs. It was clever, really, he had to admit. But clever did not mean perfect.

The chains could only be undone with a drop of the Jotun’s blood and while Loki was off playing his game, it was impossible to get what Ebony Maw needed to release the chains.

Unless he played the Jotun’s own game.

Loki should have known better. Because there was nothing in the universe more dangerous than a being with nothing left to lose. 

When the idea struck, he lost track of time how long he sat in absolute silence, working his way through the invisible strands of magic Loki had left behind, observing and tasting and then _becoming_.

He had never shifted forms before, not like the Jotun was so fond of doing, but there was a first time for everything. And if Ebony Maw was going to do something, he would do it _well_. 

Even if it nearly tore him in two. 

The shift was so foreign, so painful, like something was reaching through his skin and pulling the bones out one by one. This was about more than simply shifting forms, no, Ebony Maw had to become Loki himself.

He felt it the instant it happened, the instant his blood was no longer his own and when he bit into his wrist and ripped through the thin skin, it was with a sick pleasure that he watched the splash of dark red liquid loosen and unlock the chains.

He could only hold Loki’s form for less than a minute, his magic atrophied after weeks of stillness. The escape came at a great cost, but it was one he was willing to pay. Even as he shifted back into his natural form, even as it left him weak and trembling, like a half-starved creature—his magic was gaunt and hungry with barely enough energy to rip a pocket through the dimensions right there in the middle of his cell. It was messy and if the Jotun returned to this place, he would be able to track him like blood in snow, but Ebony Maw did not care. 

There were dark ways to travel through time and space, paths that lay hidden within worlds, that could be torn open and sealed. They were treacherous and not many knew how to create them, but he was not just anyone. 

He was Ebony Maw, a Child of the great Titan, Thanos.

And he was going home to his master.

The portal opened right into the throne room, a large cavernous chamber that was cold and cruel and deep as a void in space. Ebony Maw nearly collapsed as he looked around the familiar ship. He could not remember what it was to feel joy, but he imagined if he did, it might feel something almost like this. 

His throat was dry, his muscles shaking, and he was not alone.

It dawned upon him slowly, as he turned and faced the throne. Upon it sat Thanos, silent and still. Dark eyes watched him, took in his disheveled arrival, and the Titan was wholly unmoved. On his right hand, the gauntlet gleamed in the darkness, colorful stones pulsing with unmatched power, each like a living, beating heart.

Ebony Maw hurried forward.

“My Lord.” He knelt before the imposing dark throne, bowing his head, hand clasped over his chest. The blood spilt on these steps over the years cried out to him and he sucked in a lungful of the ever-lingering despair marinating the dais.

Thanos did not move.

“I had thought you dead.” 

Thanos stared down at him icily. Ebony Maw’s thin, serpentine lips curved in a nasty smile as he lifted his head. His eyes glittered in the pale light. “I am afraid it will take more than imprisonment and torture to kill me. Loki was clever, but not clever enough.”

He did not dare unbend his knee and rise to his feet, not while the Titan had such a look of consideration on his face. Even as Thanos unfurled his body and rose from his throne like a great mountain breaking through the sea, Ebony Maw did not breathe. 

Boots thudded down the short steps in slow, hammering steps. The creature tensed, waiting, reptilian eyes trained on his master as the Titan came to a standstill before his kneeling form. Thanos stared down at him, his eyes so cold they burned.

 _Crack_.

Ebony Maw’s head whipped to the side, his teeth slicing into the meat of his cheek under the force of the Titan’s blow. Blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, but he did not lift his eyes from the floor before him. His back curled, hunching over further. 

“You were foolish enough to allow yourself to be captured and you will answer for your mistake later.” Thanos informed him mildly. 

Shame flooded his veins. “Yes, my Lord.”

“For now, we have more pressing matters,” Thanos continued. “The Avengers have the Soul Stone.”

Stunned, Ebony Maw’s head snapped up. His eyes flitted to the gauntlet, to the hollow space where the stone used to rest. “The _Soul_ Stone?”

Thanos watched his expression closely, and his tone turned into a mocking thing, “Yes, your imposter stole it. He had all of us quite fooled.”

Something almost like panic flickered through him. Their situation was far more dire than he had realized. He had known Loki had taken on his form, but he had _no idea_ —

And then it all clicked in a drowning kind of horror.

“They also have a stonekeeper,” Ebony Maw rasped, his mind racing to recall every detail he had overheard. “A female. I heard two guards speaking of her, beyond that, I have no other information.”

Thanos’ fingers drummed a quick beat against his thigh and his eyes narrowed. The Titan turned and walked back up the dais to his throne. It was the only sign of his agitation and the fact that he showed any sign at all did not bode well for Ebony Maw.

He wondered what kind of death he would be given at the end of this.

“They have been tampering with the stone—clearly using the stonekeeper to open it.” If it were possible, Thanos seemed to grow even taller as he sat upon the throne. “You have a new task, a test to prove your worth.”

Thanos paused and Ebony Maw held his breath. Then— 

“Bring me the stonekeeper,” Thanos told him in a voice as calm as the moment before lightning strikes. “ _Alive._ ”

Bowing his head, Ebony Maw did not hold back the satisfaction that flooded him at the thought of dragging that female in by her hair and dumping her before this throne built upon blood. The thought curled in his belly. “With _pleasure_.”

He felt Thanos’ eyes upon him, assessing. 

“It would be wise if you did not disappoint me this time.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Ebony Maw agreed quietly. He knew a dismissal when he heard one. Quickly he rose to his feet and turned from Thanos and walked out of the cavernous room.

Ebony Maw paused and turned back as he reached the door, frowning.

“My Lord?”

Thanos’ eyes flicked to him.

He inhaled and asked carefully, “Have you… _located_ the stone?”

It was a long moment of silence before Thanos answered.

“We have narrowed the location down to a certain region, but the signal continues to move before we can pin it down. Proxima Midnight released our army in search of it and as a way to draw out the Avengers.”

Nodding in deep thought, Ebony Maw clasped his hands behind his back and slowly walked back to the throne. His tapping footsteps echoed. Dots of his blood were a dark stain on the ground where he had just knelt and he ran his tongue along the cut in his cheek.

“Did you know that when a stonekeeper bonds with a stone, they take on some of its signature?”

Thanos did not move, but simply said, “Tell me more.”

Ebony Maw smiled and both brows lifted as an idea began to form.

“If the Avengers have found a way to disable to signature of the Soul Stone, they may not have realized yet that the _stonekeeper_ is also giving off quite the large amount of energy—if you know how to look for it,” he paused and his eyes flicked to the Titan’s measuring gaze. “I can use the connection through the stones to find her. I can enter her dreams, her mind, make her go mad,” Ebony Maw’s lips curled, his eyes growing bright in anticipation. “I can pull out any information from her that you might like—her location, for example.”

Atop the throne, Thanos’ eyes were very dark.

“Do it.”

* * *

Eyeing the door to the now empty storage room, Clint sucked in a bracing breath and turned on his comms. All it took was a simple click at his wrist. There was no static, nothing but radio silence, and for the first time since he had split from the group, Clint wondered in no small amount of panic if they were okay.

“Natasha?” He called out in a quiet voice, eyes dropping to the floor, his brow pinched harshly.

The archer stayed in the storage room after Gayle had cleaned and left, telling her he had a call to make. His leg was throbbing and Clint latched onto that pain, grimacing when there was no immediate answer.

His leg didn’t want to straighten and so he limped on it, needed to pace, calling out again, this time in a harsh whisper, “Natasha, are you there?”

Silence. Fear skittered up Clint’s spine, trailing over each vertebra with a cold finger until his skin erupted in goosebumps. 

“Natasha, _answer me_.”

A bead of sweat glided down his temple. Then—

“ _Clint?!_ ”

Exhaling explosively, the archer nearly fell back into the shelves of supplies. Wiping a hand over his face, he gulped out, “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.”

Natasha’s panicked voice came through the comm in his ear, each word a promise of violence. “ _Where. Are. You_.”

“Corner of…” Clint squinted and came up blank. “Hell, I don’t know. Gallo Family Grocer. It’s a small store in the Bronx. There’s a whole bunch of civilians here, they’re helping out.” He paused for a moment and then added softly, “They helped me.”

A pause.

“ _I’m on my way_ ,” was the curt reply and then the comm went dead.

“Well,” Clint sighed to himself in the silence of the storage room. “ _Shit_.”

* * *

Sometime just before midnight, Darcy awoke to her name being called. Her eyes blearily opened to find Steve crouched in front of her, a careful distance away. He tilted his handsome face at her, lips curving.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Steve murmured. “C’mon, time to get up.”

Darcy’s eyes were barely slit open as her mind tried to play catch up.

“Hey,” she croaked back at him, sounding very much like an eighty-year-old man. Sitting up in her chair, Darcy stretched her arms above her head and yawned. Her back arched and she smacked her lips. “Wh’time izit?”

“Time for you to get your beauty sleep, that’s what time it is,” came an amused voice just over Steve’s shoulder. 

Darcy’s eyelashes fluttered as her gaze landed on Bucky. The dark-haired man was picking up the popcorn bowls and empty beer bottles. He straightened from his cleaning when he noticed her gaze on him and grinned. 

She yawned again, completely unable to stop it. Her eyes watered, and she gave Bucky a sleepy blink. “I can help clean up.”

“Nope,” Bucky told her easily and Darcy sat up. 

“Better listen to the man, sweetheart,” Steve said around a grin.

She looked between the two of them and knew it would be a hopeless battle. Normally, Darcy would have fought it, but the exhaustion weighing down her limbs was enough to convince her otherwise. 

“Fine. But I’m keeping a tally,” she warned and then grunted and pulled herself up to her own two feet.

It took a surprising amount of effort to do so. She may or may not have swayed and wobbled a little as she straightened completely. Steve hovered, arm extended cautiously, despite the fact that he wouldn’t be able to touch her even if she fell. 

“I’m fine,” Darcy waved him off and offered instead, “Walk me to my room?”

The corners of Steve’s eyes crinkled happily, making her heart stutter. “Of course.” 

Darcy’s gaze slid to the side and landed on Bucky who was studiously going about gathering their mess. She bit her lip, adding hopefully. “Both of you?”

In that moment, Darcy was never sure she had ever seen such a beautiful smile on a man’s face as the one that slowly grew on Bucky’s. The brunette nodded.

Steve opened the door for them as they reached the deck exit and Darcy tossed him a brilliant, swift smile as she walked through. Bucky was right on her heels. Inside, the Compound was silent, and even though there was a certain level of butterflies swirling about, trapped in her stomach Darcy couldn’t stop yawning the entire way.

Her flip flops scuffled on the ground and she grumped, “You know, even though I’m all for the protection this spell offers, it’s times like this that I despise it.”

“Why’s that?” There was a quirk on Bucky’s lips.

“ _Because_ if it weren’t here, then one of you could have gone all caveman and I could have been carried to my damn room like a fucking princess and still been asleep.”

“Don’t know a princess with a mouth like yours, Darce,”

She grinned widely at Bucky and waggled her eyebrows, “That’s what makes me the best kind.”

“You know,” Steve rumbled deeply as they ambled along. “I seem to remember a deal you made me back at the safehouse.” 

Darcy wracked her brain back to that time and frowned, shaking her head. Steve grinned like a shark. A shark that had just cornered its favorite meal and Darcy was almost scared to breathe.

“You told me then that I could carry you around as much as I ‘damn well pleased’.”

 _Oh_ , she thought and thankfully didn’t say aloud. Instead, Darcy mumbled out an unsure, “Did I really say that?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded slowly, that predatory grin bleeding into something wicked. “You did.”

“I’d like to confer with my lawyers, just to be sure,” Darcy quipped as they made the last turn down the hallways and her door came into sight. 

“I’m afraid it’s too late,” Steve shook his head sadly at her, his voice mocking innocence. “The jury’s already out. Here’s your sentence: the second this spell is gone, don’t plan on having your feet touch the ground for a solid week.”

Reaching her door, she turned and faced the two of them. Biting her lip, Darcy lifted one brow, “Is that a promise, Muscles?”

“You can tease all you want now,” Steve shrugged lightly, a secret sort of smile playing about his lips. “But I’m serious. I’m going to call in on that deal.”

Beside him, Bucky snorted and gave her a knowing look. “In other words, prepare for some really aggressive affection.”

Instantly, Darcy’s mind flew to the moment she had been laying on Steve’s chest, sated and still so _full_ , and as the blonde put it—pummeled. Blood rushed to the surface of her pale cheeks and Darcy sucked on her teeth. 

“Noted,” she grinned at Bucky, entirely avoiding the sharp, knowing look on Steve’s face (like the bastard was fully aware of the direction her mind went).

They fell quiet after that Darcy glanced back at her door. It was only slightly awkward since this is where she’d normally reach for a hug or even a kiss, but instead they were left standing there, casting lingering gazes at one another like junior high kids.

Finally, Darcy jerked her thumb back at the door, “Well, I should probably head in.” Her shoulders hitched up to her ears. “Goodnight.”

“Sleep well, sweetheart,” Steve said with a fond look.

“Sweet dreams,” Bucky added.

Darcy gave them a parting smile and then reached for her door. Slipping inside, she sighed girlishly, giving herself a moment to appreciate the night. Though it had a few bumps, she would consider the date as a whole a total success.

It was only when she got to her dresser to pick out a pair of pajamas that she realized she still had Bucky’s blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Eyes rounding, Darcy ran for her door and wrenched it open, hoping they weren’t too far away.

“Bucky!”

The hallway was empty.

Darcy looked left and right, the soft blanket clutched in her hands. A second later, Bucky appeared alone, a hesitant, almost questioning expression on his face.

She lifted up the blanket. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to run off with it.”

His eyes flicked down to the blanket and then back up. Bucky bit down on his bottom lip and then slowly released it, like he was making up his mind about something.

“Why don’t you hang onto it for me?” He suggested after a moment, offering her a tender kind of smile. It wasn’t as big as the one he had given her up on the roof earlier, but it warmed the inside of her like a burning ember. “At least until our next date.”

That ember flared into a flame and Darcy hugged the blanket tighter. Her voice was quiet and small and wrapped in a blush, “Okay.”

For a long time, the dark-haired man stared at her from down the hall and she got the feeling he wanted to say something, _do_ something, but instead he merely wished her a soft goodnight. 

Back in her room, Darcy carefully spread out the blanket on her bed. Was she planning to sleep curled up under it with a stupidly big smile on her face?

_Abso-fucking-lutely._

In fact, Darcy grinned the entire time she got ready for bed, which, by the way, grinning while attempting to brush your teeth was not something she would recommend, but she couldn’t stop herself. No matter how hard she tried.

She had gone on a date. She and Steve had gone on a date. She and Steve and _Bucky_ had gone on a date. Darcy still had no idea what she was doing, but something told her whatever it was, she was doing it right.

She had to be, after all, to be this happy, didn’t she?

Her face ached by the time she carefully crawled into bed, still sore as hell ( _thank you_ Steve’s magnificent cock). Surprisingly, it didn’t take her long to slip into a deep sleep.

In fact, it took her no time at all.

* * *

Slipping into the dream was nearly seamless.

Darcy closed her eyes one second and opened them the next to a world bathed in blood. The sky was a perpetual sunset and it painted everything the color of violence. An endless sea of smooth glass reflected the color of the sky and there was no beginning and no end, and the world was still as death. Looming in the distance was a great and terrible mountain; imposing and jagged and something about it shook Darcy at her very core.

In the center of the sea was an orange light; it glowed and pulsed like a beating heart, constant, beneath everything.

And she wasn’t alone.

Beside her was the dark-haired man with the smile like a night sky. Except there was no night sky. Not here. The dark-haired man—wait. 

Not the dark-haired man.

 _Bucky_.

 _Bucky_ was with her in this place and he slid cool metal fingers between her own. She turned to him, her eyes ripping away from the pulsing radiance under the surface of the water, and he whispered something. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear him, couldn’t understand what he was saying. Frowning, she shook her head. The light throbbed even brighter, flaring like a pyre in the dead of night, and in the center of her chest, threads of an invisible strand tied itself around everything that she was, everything that she would be, could be, and _pulled_.

Something like confusion flickered across Bucky’s face as she withdrew her hand from his and turned towards the glowing light. Darcy took a step towards it. Panicked, Bucky reached for her, but she was already gone, already taken, beyond his reach.

And then she heard it.

The voice that was both one and many, young and old. It slid beneath her skin and coiled around her bones like thunder and velvet.

 _Hello sweet child._ _Where have you been?_

Her feet moved, breaking the smooth surface of the water into thousands of ripples. As if the pulsing light sensed her, it tugged even harder, like it would rip her heart out of her very chest.

 _Darcy._ The voice crooned. _Come. Come and speak with me. Don’t be afraid, child. Come closer._

She did. That voice and that light entered her, filled her eyes, filled the empty spaces within her, ballooning up until her blood buzzed and she couldn’t take anymore. It examined every thought, every desire and then it _became_ her every thought, every desire, every need. 

Until it owned her.

 _Darcy_.

The Soul Stone.

_Darcy. Darcy._

If she just reached down and took hold of it—

_DarcyDarcyDarcy—_

Her name was a song, a hypnotic melody and her head spun at the sound of it. It swirled around her, tighter and tighter until she couldn’t move. And then the voice changed. 

_Where are you, child?_ It became singular and soft and kind and Darcy didn’t trust it at all. _Tell me. Where are you?_

Her mouth opened and hands landed on her shoulders with a jarring jolt, whirling her around. Trembling, Darcy stared up into the frightened face of James Buchanan Barnes. His gray eyes nearly silver in this blood-tinted world and he shook her hard enough that her head jerked sharply, neck cracking.

“ **Wake up!** ” He shouted, voice rising over the pulsing stone.

And then, Darcy did just that.

The world vanished into vapor and smoke and Darcy gasped awake.

Like she had been tasered, she shook herself into consciousness. Her heart thudded like a bass drum against her ribcage, almost painfully hard, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat. Chapped lips parted and her breath rushed in and out of her lungs. Confused, Darcy glanced down and realized she was standing at her door, had somehow wandered to it in her sleep, her hand resting on the half-turned doorknob.

Stunned, she released the doorknob like it was a hot coal and stumbled backwards away from it, away from the hallway that would lead her to the labs and to that fucking stone. That fucking stone whose voice she could still hear echoing in her ears, bouncing off her bones, singing in her blood—calling to her, beckoning her. 

_Don’t be afraid. Come._

Her stomach lurched violently.

Terror flooded her and her teeth chattered as she shook. Dizzy, Darcy continued stumbling backwards, a flailing of arms and legs, and tripped over something long and hard and metal. It clanged on the tiled floor loudly.

Darcy cursed and scrambled to her feet, glaring down at the sticks Jane had made as though it were their fault entirely that she fell. In a rush, she righted them against the wall where they belonged and then all but dove for the lone water bottle on the desk. Unscrewing the cap, she gulped down half of the bottle, the plastic crinkling beneath her shaky grip. Water spilled out of the sides of her mouth, drenching her front, but she didn’t give a damn.

_Where are you, sweet child, sweet Darcy?_

Dropping the bottle, water sprayed the bottom of her legs. She clapped her hands over her ears and screwed her eyes shut.

“Shut up, shut up, shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup—”

_Tell me._

She didn’t understand, not when images and scenes began to float through her mind then, unbidden and intrusive. Things she had never seen, never imagined possible, things so unspeakably evil and violent and twisted. She saw Steve and the Avengers and children and women and nameless people of all kinds and so much _blood_ , rivers of it. Darcy wanted to claw her eyes out.

Because, in her mind, _she_ was the one committing these acts. Every image, every scene, it was her.

“What’s wrong with me?” She gasped out hoarsely, voice breaking. Eyes going wide, Darcy ran her hands through her hair and clenched it at the roots until it sparked with pain. Her stomach was rolling with a sick feeling that only intensified by the second. “ _Stop it!_ ” 

Darcy slapped herself once, twice, three, four times until her cheek was stinging and raw. Her throat clenched, heart pounding, her blood was ice and she was falling farther and farther away from herself and she barely heard FRIDAY calling out to her.

“ _Miss Lewis, shall I call the Captain?_ ”

Shocked silence, then—

“No,” she said weakly, curling into a ball, and then louder—“No!”

FRIDAY didn’t respond and Darcy forced herself to take a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just…” She could almost feel the AI’s hesitation and then her voice sharpened and hardened. “FRIDAY I _order_ you not to tell Steve.”

There was a long moment of quiet.

“ _As you wish, Miss Lewis_.”

And then FRIDAY was gone but so were the images, the flashes of awful crimes and deeds and torture. But her stomach refused to unclench and she was unable to shake the deeply troubling feeling. Darcy flicked on the lamp beside her bed and curled up tightly under the blanket Bucky had given her, hugging her knees into her chest.

_Am I going insane?_

It was only then that she allowed herself to cry.

* * *

Music blared in the lab so loud that he was probably going to be deaf before he was fifty.

Nodding his head along with the beat and using his fingers as imaginary drumsticks for the solo, Tony glided his rolling chair from one desk to another. He rolled past the stone in its case and then stopped and spun around in his chair. He tilted up the welding goggles he wore and stared at it for a long moment.

It was brighter than usual, the light in it throbbing.

“Hmm.” Frowning, Tony’s dark eyes flicked to the screen next to the stone. The signal jammer was still in full effect, even under the sudden surge of energy.

Satisfied, the billionaire turned back to Darcy’s personalized gauntlet he was working on and flipped his goggles back into place.

* * *

Let it never be said that Natasha Romanoff didn’t like to make an entrance.

It was not the first time, but would hopefully be the last, that an alien spaceship landed right in the middle of a New York City street. Clint and Ray had been watching for their arrival at the window all the while keeping a keen eye out for more of the monsters Thanos had set loose on the city. When they spotted the ship in the sky, they had pulled back the wooden panel from the doorway and gone out to meet them.

The craft hummed as it settled in the street. A ramp lowered with a hiss, revealing a light blue glow from inside, just like in the movies. A second later, two figures marched down, their boots clomping lightly on the metal: Natasha Romanoff and Carol Danvers.

Both women were grim-faced and looked pissed as hell.

“Good luck,” Ray muttered off to the side with widening eyes and Clint blindly flipped him off.

The archer limped towards them, bow strapped to his back, his leg bent and refusing to straighten. Natasha’s bright gaze flicked down to it and hardened before darting back up to Clint’s face. The redhead didn’t spare Ray a single glance before she walked right up to Clint and slapped him hard enough that he saw stars briefly.

“You ever do something that stupid again,” Natasha promised lowly, every word a silky threat. “I’ll kill you myself.”

His cheek stung but he smartly nodded. “Understood.”

Just over Natasha’s shoulder, Carol tilted her head, dark eyes flashing to Ray. “Made some new friends?”

Clint twisted and looked at Ray and then to the window that was filled with faces, young and old. His throat tightened when Gayle suddenly filled the doorway, her expression solemn. 

He couldn’t name the wave of emotion that rushed through him in that moment, but it was almost physical. He owed these people.

“They saved my life.” Clint said simply, quietly.

Natasha finally turned to them, her voice loud enough for all to hear. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Ray spoke up suddenly. 

Clint frowned at him, but the man was staring down the street, eyes narrowed. Slowly, the rest of them followed his lead and turned and stared. That’s when they heard it.

A far off deep, rolling growl that could only mean one thing.

“We’ve got incoming.” Ray lifted his shotgun up to his shoulder, peering into the darkness.

A horde of monsters burst around the corner, skidding into the street like a pack of wild dogs, snarling and snapping at each other even as they ran straight towards them.

Clint tensed and reached for his bow, but Carol merely waved him off and smirked. 

“I got it,” she called out and shook her arms like a boxer entering the ring. Hands flexing and unflexing, Clint watched as they started to spark to life. 

Calmly, the blond stepped out into the middle of the street while the rest of the watched. Carol rolled her neck, bouncing on her toes, and waited until the creatures got a little closer. And then she lifted both glowing fists and punched out a proton blast, vaporizing the entire horde in one fucking shot.

For the briefest moment, Raymond Gallo looked like he had fallen head over heels in love before he quickly schooled his features. The archer might have teased the old man about it if Clint’s own brows hadn’t raised, his mouth parting slightly.

Satisfied when she saw that she had gotten them all, Carol turned back to the others and grinned, giving them a cheesy thumbs up.

“Nobody likes a goddamn show off,” Ray’s was finally able to mutter, his face was an odd mixture of boyish admiration and cantankerous old man. 

Holding back a snicker, Clint glanced Ray. “You going to be alright here?”

“Go,” Ray gestured to the ship and to the two women over Clint’s shoulder. He spit off to the side and cradled his shotgun with ease. “Save the world and shit. We’ve got the Bronx.”

* * *

Golden fingers of early morning sunlight drifted across the bed, reaching for him. Dust motes were caught in the watery beams, floating and whirling endlessly. Bucky watched them, mesmerized. His body was sluggish, not wanting to get up and move from the warmth of the bed and the weight of Steve’s arm banded around his waist (the punk _always_ had a hand on him in some way when they slept, had been like that since they were kids).

Bucky was on his side, calm and relaxed, but he hadn’t slept well. He didn’t always have the easiest time sleeping in general, but this was different. It wasn’t the tossing and turning and violently haunting nightmares from his years trapped in Hydra. 

This was Darcy.

Every night since she had pulled him from the stone, he dreamed of her and most of the time it was calm and peaceful. But not last night.

Last night had been fear. Last night his eyes had shot open in a silent jolt and it had taken everything in him to not crawl out of bed and go check on her. It was strange, the pull he felt, the insistent tug.

But the last thing Bucky wanted to do was to barge into Darcy’s room like some lunatic and scare off the girl he was already pretty sure was going to run from him once she really got to know him.

Besides, the alarms didn’t go off, the Compound was silent.

 _She’s fine_ , he had repeated over and over to himself. 

And yet, now matter what he told himself, Bucky wasn’t able to shake the feeling that something was wrong. 

He used to get like this, in those early days after Steve brought him in, back when he was practically a feral beast. He had always been convinced they were being followed, that something was wrong, that it wasn’t safe. He would pace at night, unable to shut down, checking windows and locks and his weapons obsessively. It would take hours for his mind to settle after an episode, sometimes days. 

This felt similar enough that it convinced Bucky to stay put and grit his teeth through it. 

That didn’t mean he fell back asleep. No. Bucky stayed awake and he lay perfectly still, thoughts stewing in his mind.

Darcy was fine. 

He was just being paranoid.

“Mornin’,” a deep voice rumbled in his ear and Bucky’s brows lifted.

Hot lips pressed against his shoulder blade before Steve nuzzled into the side of his neck. His beard scratched at the delicate skin there in a pleasant sort of way. A heavy leg hitched over Bucky’s hip, pining him even deeper into the bed. Steve molded himself completely against Bucky and the brunette grinned at the morning wood the blond so obviously pressed against his lower back.

“Good morning to you, too.”

He tried to sound normal, tried to shake off that sinking feeling in his gut, and most people would have bought it. But not Steve. The blond stilled and then pressed up to his forearm and leaned over Bucky, glacier eyes searching his face. 

Bucky tilted his head back and smiled at him, close-lipped. He knew it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked with a soft, concerned frown.

“Yeah,” Bucky answered easily, one hand reaching back to cup the back of Steve’s neck. He tugged him down for a swift kiss and whispered against his lips, “M’fine.”

Steve pulled back, and pressed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Did he want to tell Steve that his paranoia was acting up again (and after he had worked so fucking hard to get better) and that it had turned the entirety of its focus on Darcy? No. Not really. 

“Nothin’ to talk about,” he eventually mumbled, flicking his gaze off to the side.

“Buck—”

Twisting around suddenly in Steve’s hold, Bucky pushed up and cut him off with a brutal kiss. He used his metal hand to slide around the back of Steve’s head, holding the blond against him (though he didn’t have to use much pressure because Steve was _there_ ). Bucky kissed him desperately, sloppily, and rolled Steve onto his back.

The blond let him with a deep, throaty groan into Bucky’s mouth. His hands flew to Bucky’s waist the second he straddled him, fingers digging in. It tickled a little, but Bucky ignored it and tilted his head, pressing his bare chest to Steve’s, sliding his tongue in and out of his hot mouth in every way he knew the other man enjoyed.

Years of being together had taught them how to play each other like a fine-tuned instrument and right now, Bucky needed Steve _distracted_.

He bit down hard on Steve’s bottom lip at the same moment his hand wrapped around Steve’s achingly hard cock. Steve answered by skimming his hands down Bucky’s back to take two handfuls of his ass. One swift tug upward from the blond and Bucky was groaning at the friction.

By the time they parted to breathe, Bucky’s dick was leaking like a broken faucet.

“Can I…?”

Steve just stared at him through sex-drunk eyes and he nodded. 

Normally Bucky liked to take his sweet time, he liked to unravel his partners until they lost the ability to even _speak_. But something else was pushing at the edges of his mind, weaving a frantic sort of energy through everything he did and said.

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Bucky sat up and dove for the nightstand drawer beside the bed. The mattress shook with Steve’s silent laughter at his desperation and in another time, he would have made the other man regret even the idea of laughing. But not today. Not this morning.

Digging through the drawer, he snagged the lube and crawled back to Steve, his cock aching as it bobbed. Steve took the bottle out of his hands and Bucky’s brows lifted. The blond uncapped it and squeezed a generous amount into his hand before flicking blue eyes up to Bucky’s face and taking hold of his cock, coating it in the slick.

“Oh god,” Bucky’s eyes slid shut as Steve worked him with a frightening sort of intensity.

“How do you want me, Buck?” Steve asked in a voice like syrup.

Bucky panted, brows pinching as he kept his eyes shut. “On your hands and knees.”

Steve hummed deep in his throat and continued pumping Bucky’s cock until it made a slick, wet sound with every push and pull of his hand. 

Shoving his hand away when he couldn’t take anymore, Bucky’s eyes opened, and he tapped Steve’s side twice. The blond didn’t need any further instruction, he turned over and then rose to his hands and knees, his perfectly round ass in the air, waiting.

And it was a fucking sight to see.

Steve was already glistening, and Bucky realized that at some point when his eyes had been closed, the sneaky son of a bitch must have snuck some lube down there for himself in preparation. Grinning unbidden, Bucky’s cock jumped, and he pumped himself twice. 

Scooting forward, his thighs pressed against Steve’s, and soon Bucky was lining himself up and easing in with slow, careful thrusts. His breath left him in a shaky exhale when he bottomed out and then he bent and pressed a lingering kiss to the middle of Steve’s arching back.

And then Bucky straightened and gripped his lover’s hips.

He watched as the sheets twisted under Steve’s fingers as he began to move and he knew it wasn’t going to take much today to get him off. He was already there, already too damn tense, and by the obscene sounds Steve was making, he wouldn’t be far behind either.

Bucky slowed his thrusts and looked anywhere but at his cock sliding into Steve’s tight fucking ass. His eyes landed on the dark duffle bag against the wall that he had packed the day before. It was full of clothes and weapons and money and fake identifications and everything he and Darcy would need to disappear.

Right. Because they were leaving. Soon.

Abruptly, Bucky wondered if this would be the last time he and Steve were ever together. 

Fear gripped his heart and his hips stuttered, his fingers suddenly squeezing Steve’s hips too tight, his thrusts hard enough to be painful and bruising. The blond tilted his head around, panting.

“You good, Buck?”

Swallowing, Bucky wet his lips and ripped his eyes away from that bag. But it was too late, Steve had seen where he was looking. Something flashed through Steve’s eyes and at once, Bucky knew he had the same thought—what if this was the last time?

“Take care of her,” Steve gasped out, his voice suddenly thick, and Bucky’s hips stopped moving entirely. “Please take care of her. Protect her.”

“I will,” Bucky nodded right away, the words wrenching out of his throat. “You know I will.” His arms were trembling, love swelling in his heart as he stared back at Steve, held his gaze. He would do anything, _anything_ for this man. But also, his mind flit to Darcy, to her pretty smile and the way she met the brutality of this world with so much fucking gentleness, and he knew that he would do anything in his power to keep that part of her—all of her—safe. 

Their lovemaking was quiet after that, silent and intense. At some point Steve flipped onto his back so he could stare up at Bucky’s face as they came together, falling over the edge in a gasping, sweaty mess.

Bucky collapsed on him, his hot breath panting against Steve’s neck as the blond stared up at the ceiling.

It was a long time before Steve spoke again. 

“If…” Bucky felt Steve’s throat work. “If things go south—”

“Steve—”

“If something happens to me…”

Bucky rose above him, staring down at Steve, his heart clenching. He shook his head silently and that savage part of Bucky, the thing that Shuri would never have been able to completely get rid of, the thing that had been there before the Winter Soldier, the thing that would tear this fucking world apart for Steve lifted its head and rose to attention.

Nothing was going to fucking happen to Steve. _Nothing_.

“That first wish I had on the roof; do you remember it?”

Bucky blinked and snapped back to himself. Steve was watching him with such a look of urgency that it scared him. 

“A home,” Bucky said in an exhale. “In Brooklyn.”

Steve nodded, his voice quiet. “It’s not just a wish, Buck. I bought a place while you were recovering in Wakanda. I bought it for us.”

Stunned, Bucky just stared down at him in disbelief. 

“It’s just like I described, up in Williamsburg,” Steve wet his lips, his eyes darkening in a way Bucky didn’t like. “If something happens to me and I don’t make it, I want you and Darcy to have that place.”

Speechless, Bucky rolled off Steve and flopped onto the mattress beside him. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Y’know, when I volunteered to take Darcy,” Bucky told him, softly. “It didn’t hit me then that I would be leaving you behind—what that could mean.”

“I know. Bu this is all that I can give you.”

“ _No_.” Bucky spit out venomously, anger searing through him like oil in a hot pan. He turned and outright glared at Steve. “You can give something else.”

Steve shook his head, at a loss. “What?” 

“You promise me, you son of a bitch, that you’re going to come out on the other side of this. You always have, you’re fuckin’ hard to kill,” and then Bucky added with a rueful grin, “ _I_ should know that better than anyone.”

But Steve didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile and Bucky surged towards him, hands reaching for his face. He shook the blond a little as he demanded, “ _Promise me,_ Steven. Promise me you won’t do something stupid and get yourself killed. Stay alive,” Bucky begged. “For me and Darcy.”

“I’ll write down the address for you.” 

Steve did not meet Bucky’s eyes. 

* * *

That night, after a solid cry, Darcy had angrily wiped her face and grabbed her laptop. Sleep was out of the question. There was no way in hell she was going to take the chance and dream again—to let the stone mess with her head. The only option was to load the USB Clint had given her before he left.

It would have been easy to stay in bed. It would have been easy to run from this place screaming. 

Instead, Darcy spent the night learning the faces and names of every Avenger who was snapped. She read as many files as she could, tried to figure out the people she was supposed to pull out of the stone. The files weren’t much help in the end though. That was _information_. What Darcy needed was _purpose_.

If she was going to do this, she needed a why.

And so, she put all the photos into a slideshow with their names and set it on repeat. Binging it like a marathon, Darcy made sure to look each person in the eyes every time they came on the screen. 

She hoped that in them, she could find her courage because it sure as hell wasn’t in her.

_T’Challa, son of T'Chaka._

_Wanda Maximoff._

_Stephen Strange._

_Sam Wilson._

_Nick Fury._

_Peter Quill._

_James Rhodes._

_Drax…_

* * *

“FRIDAY,” Steve called out as he buttoned hit shirt, focusing on not tearing the delicate threads. “Status on Darcy?”

In the bathroom, toothbrush stuck in his mouth, Bucky went utterly still.

“ _Miss Lewis is currently in her room_ ,” the AI replied evenly, and Steve glanced up at the ceiling, his shirt only done up halfway and waited for something. What that something was, Bucky wasn’t sure.

“Status?” Steve requested again.

FRIDAY hesitated and then repeated. “ _Miss Lewis is currently in her room._ ”

Spitting the glob of white, foamy toothpaste into the sink, Bucky ran the water and rinsed his brush. He wiped the corner of his lips and stepped out into their room. “Is it broken?” 

“No,” the blonde’s mouth tightened, his jaw clenching. In his frustration, Steve jerked a button clean off and then sighed. Swiftly, he slid the shirt off and reached for another, this one a simple blue t-shirt. His movements were erratic as tugged it over his head, his voice muffled. “FRIDAY has done this before. Usually because Darcy’s ordered her not to tell me something or to lie.”

Bucky’s brows shot up to his hairline and a worried thought crawled through his mind. The nagging feeling he had all night came back full force. His heart skipped a beat.

“She do this often?” He asked in a quiet, careful tone.

“Who, FRIDAY or Darcy?”

Bucky gave Steve a very flat look.

The blond padded over on socked feet to his boots at the end of their unmade bed. Steve slipped his feet in and then bent to tie them.

“We’re working on it,” he grit out, decidedly unhappy about it. “What I do know is that FRIDAY would tell me if she was hurt or in danger. Some things can override a direct order, the health of the person giving it, for example.” Straightening, Steve glanced at the clock. “ _Shit_ , I have a meeting with Stark.”

Blue eyes slid to Bucky.

“Would you check on Darcy? Just stop by her room, make sure she’s alright.”

“Sure,” Bucky nodded and Steve sighed in relief.

“Thank you,” he hurried over and gave Bucky a peck on the lips before rushing out the door. Bucky watched him go, a sick feeling in his gut.

_You knew. You knew last night something was wrong._

* * *

She had been expecting the knock, had prepared for it.

Swallowing a mouthful of coffee, Darcy set the mug on the nightstand beside her bed. She ran to the bathroom mirror to check her appearance and made a face at the dark circles under her eyes. Applying a good amount of concealer, Darcy blended it as quickly as she could (thank God for makeup) and then stepped back. 

For a newly appointed insomniac, she didn’t look half bad, but she didn’t look like herself.

Her hair was in a messy bun and the clothes she wore were clean. She was thinner than she had ever been, and paler, and there was a hardness to her face that had never been there before. 

Darcy missed the part of herself that binged movies with Jane, whose diet consisted mostly of assorted breakfast foods, who embraced the extra weight she carried on her hips and thighs and belly, who laughed too loud in restaurants and who wasn’t so scared all of the damn time.

Tugging on the hem of her shirt, Darcy whirled away from the mirror and marched for the door where she knew Steve was waiting.

Wrenching the door open with a fake smile plastered on her face, Darcy cried, “Good mor— _oh_.”

See, she had prepared for _Steve_. What she had not prepared for was tall, dark, and handsome standing in the hallway with his hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans. 

“Hey.”

Darcy’s eyelashes fluttered in surprise and she blurted out, “Bucky, hi.”

Naturally, Darcy’s gaze darted over his shoulder expectantly to the empty hall, brows pulling together slightly.

“Steve’s not here,” Bucky explained, and Darcy blanched. 

“I wasn’t—”

He shrugged. “’S’okay if you were. He’s with Stark right now.”

“Ah,” Darcy nodded sagely. 

“I thought you and I could go over a coupl’a things before we leave tomorrow. Just to make sure you’re ready to go.”

 _Tomorrow_. The word reverberated in her, sliding over her skin. Her mind flashed to that blood-red world and the glass sea with startling clarity and for a moment, it was almost as if she was an outsider looking in, stuck in that world while the woman standing in the doorway staring at Bucky with her mouth gaping open like a fish was someone else.

“Darce?” Bucky called cautiously, stepping closer, concern shining in his face.

A jolt went through her and she started. “Oh—yeah, I—that’s a good idea.” She blinked up at Bucky, “Do you want to come in?”

Darcy stepped back and held the door open for him. Bucky watched her closely, like he was trying to get a read on something but took her invitation anyway.

Thankfully, this time, there were no set of lingerie lying around. 

The door clicked shut and Darcy moved past Bucky towards her tangle of sheets and the open laptop. She quickly snapped it closed and pulled out the USB, slipping it into her pocket. Bucky’s eyes trailed her every move and when she turned back around, his eyes were on her pocket.

He didn't mention it, but it was clear he knew what that was.

In fact, she got the distinct impression that letting Bucky inside her room was like letting him read her innermost private thoughts. Darcy was aware that he was trained to pick up on all different kinds of things she never would give a second glance and from the stillness of his body and the look of careful concern and worry in his face at the moment, she was afraid of what he was seeing—if he could see past the concealer she had tried to put on not just her eyes, but on everything. The fake bright smile and the way she was too put-together.

“Sorry for the mess,” Darcy said for lack of anything else. She gave him a half smile and reached for her half-empty mug of coffee. “I’d offer you something to drink, but we’d have to go to the Commons for that.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Bucky assured her and gestured to the two chairs at her desk. “Why don’t we take a seat?”

Darcy tapped her fingers against the ceramic mug and moved towards the spot he offered. Naturally, she shoved it a good foot further away from his chair to be safe. Bucky waited for her to climb into the chair and then looped his foot around the leg of his chair, dragging it over to sit in front of her. 

It was closer than she was entirely comfortable with, but Bucky seemed unconcerned with that. His hair was pulled back into a haphazard bun at the base of his neck but there was still a rogue strand that hung in his eyes. It made Darcy want to touch it, to see if it was as soft as it looked. The gray long sleeved shirt he wore matched his eyes and stretched across his broad chest; Darcy watched the way the muscles across his shoulders bunched and rolled as he moved.

Silver fingers twitched at his side and Darcy dragged her eyes back to his. He just looked at her, like he was waiting for her to speak.

When she didn’t, Bucky wet his lips, “Before we start, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly and brought her mug to her lips.

“How’d you sleep last night?” 

Darcy nearly choked on her drink. Her eyes watered as she swallowed it down and then set the mug down beside her. Turning back to Bucky, she smiled wide and bright and so fucking fake and opened her mouth to speak—

“Don’t lie to me,” Bucky cocked a brow at her. He braced his elbows against his knees, hands clasped loosely between his thick thighs. “How did you _sleep_ last night, Darcy?”

She took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. “I didn’t.”

“Bad dream?”

Darcy’s eyes flew to his. 

“I had one, too,” he was watching her closely. Darcy’s heart pounded. “You were in it. This is gonna sound weird, but I just—I need to know somethin’.” Bucky stopped and blew out a breath and sat back. “Did you need help last night?”

Darcy scowled, despite her words, “I was fine.”

“I’m not askin’ that. I’m asking if you _needed_ someone.” He was met with silence. The muscle in Bucky’s jaw jumped and he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, his big chest heaving a sigh. “You don’t have to go through everything alone, you know. Steve and I _want_ to be here for you, but we can’t be if you keep hidin’ shit.”

“I’m not—”

“We know you asked FRIDAY to lie. My question is: why?”

Darcy was quiet, painfully so. 

“ _Talk_ to me, Darcy,” Bucky tried again. She had never heard that kind of tone come out of him before. “Please.”

She twisted her hands in her lap.

“I’m scared, okay?” The words wrenched from her throat and splattered between the two of them.

“Of what?” Bucky asked, his gray eyes wide and confused. “Of me and Steve?”

“No,” Darcy croaked, “god no. I mean, on some level, but not like…” Trailing off, she flapped her hand and then sucked in a lungful of air and steeled herself as the words all but rushed out. “Listen, I’d like to pretend I’m okay with the idea that I’m about to touch that stone again, but I’m not. I’d like to pretend that I’m not practically being haunted by the stone and losing sleep because my dreams are so fucked up. I’m scared to death and I wish I wasn’t. And I feel _ashamed_ about it. I shouldn’t be scared. I mean, you all are… well, superheroes. How do you do it? How do you find the courage?”

Bucky’s eyes were quiet and measuring and she was reminded suddenly of the sky just before a storm broke.

“We don’t.”

Darcy inhaled sharply, brows drawing together in confusion. Bucky continued.

“Half the shit we do, we’re terrified of. It’s not about finding the courage, it’s about doing it anyway. Doing it afraid. But Darcy?” Bucky ducked his head to meet her eyes. “I want you to listen to me right now, okay?” He waited, satisfied only when she nodded in agreement. “I know you’ve got it in your head that opening the stone is the only way, but if you don’t want to do this, _you do not have to_. You can walk away and anyone who has a problem with that can talk to my fists—and Steve’s. And probably Thor’s.”

It was tempting, what he was offering. Especially after last night. But Darcy shook her head firmly, her lips pressing together. “I have to.”

“Who says?” Bucky challenged and Darcy stared him square in the eyes.

“I do.”

The words came out hoarse, but they were hers and they were the truth. She wouldn’t be able to walk away now, not by choice.

For a long time, Bucky just looked at her and then he dipped his head.

“Okay. If it’s your decision, then I’ll stand by that.”

“Thank you,” Darcy murmured softly.

Bucky gnawed at his bottom lip, squinting at her. 

“I told you I’ve got your back. I meant that. As for the stone, Steve and I are gonna be there with you, the whole time. We won’t leave your side, not for a second.” There was steel in his voice, as impenetrable as the arm at his side. “You might be the only one who can touch that stone, but we’ll do this together.”

Bucky swiftly became blurry in her vision and she blinked until the welling tears disappeared. When she spoke, her voice was very small. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he nodded and then his gaze flicked off to the side as his wide chest expanded with his deep inhale, “Which is why I’m gonna ask that you stay in our room, with me and Steve tonight. We’ll get a cot in there, there’s plenty of space. But this is the last night before we leave, before you open the stone, and I don’t think it’s smart for you to be by yourself. And call me paranoid, but that dream I had last night screwed with my head a little so I can only imagine what it did to you.”

“I think I’d like that,” Darcy admitted, softly. Her eyes were very bright.

Bucky smiled at her and it was a quiet thing. 

“Me, too.” 

* * *

Thanos was sitting at a large table bent over a bowl of hot soup when Ebony Maw entered unannounced. His spoon stopped halfway to his mouth and he lifted one cool brow at the creature.

“Prepare your ships,” Ebony Maw declared and there was something very dark in his eyes.

Slowly, Thanos lowered the spoon. It clinked against the bowl. “Did you find her?”

Ebony Maw’s smile was one of violence.

“Yes. Just as I promised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it awful that I love writing villains? I don't know why but I just do.
> 
> Thank you for all the love and support and for reading this story!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/), I dare you.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience with my delay. Work and health things jumped on me all at once. That being said, I am so fucking excited. Is that a good sign?
> 
> Who knows.

“Hey Mr. Stark! So, I found one of your repulsor blasters. Can I borrow it? It won’t take long and I’ll be super careful but—”

“Sure thing, kid,” Tony chirped automatically, not once looking away from the gauntlet. Soldering was delicate work and required absolute precision, not to mention the fact that the tool in his hand was a mean eight-hundred and forty-degrees Fahrenheit. If the metals weren’t bonded properly or if he nicked the control panel, then the gauntlet wouldn’t be able to withstand the astronomical levels of energy the stone carried and an internal collapse would be fatal for more than just Darcy.

To be honest, Tony wasn’t one hundred percent sure the gauntlet could withstand the energy even if it _was_ done properly but he was damn well going to try.

“Wow, really?” Peter sputtered out in something akin to shock from somewhere over his shoulder. “Thanks!” 

“Uh huh, no problem.” Tony kept his hand steady, exhaling slowly as he bonded the metal joint together. Once it was secure and in place, he straightened and leaned back in his chair to stare down at his work. 

His back throbbed from hunching over the gauntlet for the last two hours. Setting the solder down, Tony gripped the lip of his stool and twisted his torso, stretching the tight muscles knotted up along his spine. It cracked and popped in response and Tony’s eyes slid shut with a groan.

Last night had been a strategic choice of sorts. He lost four valuable hours in exchange for some much needed shut eye. Was he going to pay for it by having to work double time? You bet. But Pepper would be proud of him (god, he missed that woman). Making a piece of tech like this from scratch was no easy task and the constant stress of the last month had taken its toll, not to mention he still wasn’t back to his A game physically after all that time lost in space. But this morning? This morning Tony was feeling refreshed and alert. Sure, there were still terabytes of calculations that FRIDAY was working on around the clock, but Tony got to focus solely on taking those results and building the innermost workings of the gauntlet itself. 

He was a mechanic after all, he _lived_ for this shit. And if the gauntlet was going to be ready for Darcy, then he needed to—

_Wait a goddamn second._

Tony suddenly went ramrod straight, inhaling sharply.

Distantly, there was an alarm blaring in his mind, and then it all clicked into place, like someone had dropped a bucket full of ice water over his head.

Peter _fucking_ Parker just waltzed out of his lab with a handheld blaster to do god knows what.

Clumsily, Tony spun around with a strangled cry. “Woah, hey—wait a second!”

But Peter had already made it out the door and was in the hallway, blissfully unaware of the billionaire’s panic as his shout was overshadowed by the blaring guitar solo.

“FRIDAY,” Tony tilted his face to the ceiling in a yell. “Cut the music!”

Like someone had pulled a plug, silence instantly descended, and Tony’s ears rang. He shot up from his stool and waved his arms wildly trying to catch the kid’s attention through the glass wall. 

“Christ, you’re oblivious—” the billionaire muttered and then bellowed dramatically. “Halt! _Cease and desist!_ ”

Hearing his shout, Peter finally froze and slowly turned, brows racing to his hairline. When he made eye contact with Tony, the teen nodded and smiled triumphantly, lifting the goddamn blaster in the air like a trophy, not like a weapon that could blow a hole straight through him.

Eyes wide, Tony jogged over, skidding to a stop at the door. Gripping the doorframe, he poked his head out into the hallway and frowned. “Where are you going with that?”

Peter blinked three times resembling a doe caught in the headlights. “With what?”

“Where are you going with my _repulsor?_ ”

Shifting on his feet, the teen clutched the weapon a little closer, his expression one of utter confusion. “You just… told me I could… borrow it?”

“I was distracted, doesn’t count,” Tony rebutted swiftly and then narrowed his eyes. “ _Why_ do you need it?”

The responding grimace on Peter’s face did not bode well.

“Well, you see, it’s a long story but—”

“Give it to me in twenty seconds or less.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then the words burst out of Peter’s mouth like water from a busted pipe. “Groot and I were thinking, well, it’s really me because I can’t understand what Groot’s saying but that’s okay because—”

“Ten seconds, cut to the point,” Tony warned.

“We want to set traps for when Thanos comes.” 

Whatever Tony had expected Peter to say, it was not that. It was _anything_ but that. 

The billionaire’s mouth opened to speak and then snapped shut with an audible _click_. Peter carefully studied the older man and when he spoke next, his voice was quiet and so very earnest.

“I thought it would be a good idea after seeing what those creatures were doing to New York City. This way, we can be prepared for when they come after the stone.”

 _Prepared_. The kid was preparing for _war_.

“I’m going to regret asking this,” Tony began slowly. His dark eyes flit down to the weapon and then back to Peter’s face. “But what kind of traps?”

“Pits,” Peter told him easily. “It would take forever to dig them by hand, that’s why Groot and I thought your blasters would make it quicker. Y’know, blasting a hole in the ground to give us a head start.”

Tony lifted one brow, repeating flatly. “Pits.”

And Peter brightened like the sun.

“Yeah! We can put spikes and spears in them and cover them up with branches and if those creatures come, well, I’m banking on the fact that they run in crazed packs, so they’ll fall right in and skewer themselves,” Peter was talking a million miles an hour, his tone growing more excited the longer he spoke. “I saw it on this really old movie that I used to watch as a kid, _Swiss Family Robinson_. It worked for them against pirates,” the teen’s thin mouth suddenly turned down into a thoughtful frown. “Except they had a tiger in their pits. I don’t suppose we can get a tiger anywhere, can we?”

For the record, Tony found it stupidly ironic that he got stuck with the teen Avenger obsessed with pop culture references. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the billionaire tried to gather the whirlwind that was his thoughts. 

“Yeah, _no_ ,” Tony shook his head firmly. “No tigers.”

“That’s okay, I’ll find something else that will wo—”

“Hey kid,” Tony cut him off. “You know, it’s been a hot minute. Why don’t you pause on the pit idea and come back in the lab for a second so we can have a chat?” He jerked his thumb behind him and when Peter gave a little nod, Tony turned around, leading the way.

Once in the lab, he pulled out a rolling chair for the teen and pointed at it. Peter promptly sat down, clutching the repulsor in his lap, brows pulling up in the middle, his gaze locked on the billionaire. Tony snagged a second chair and dragged it over, spinning it around so that he had a place to rest his forearms as he straddled it.

Sitting down, they were eye to eye and Tony took a long moment to observe the teen. It had been a while since he had spent some time with Peter and Tony felt mildly guilty for that. The kid, for the most part though, looked okay. He was less pale than he had been on that fucking awful ship, less gaunt as well. His cheeks were filling in slowly but surely, and the light was still in his eyes.

_But for how long?_

The thought came out of left field, but it struck home like a taser in the chest, stunning him entirely, and Tony was suddenly deathly afraid of seeing that light leave Peter’s eyes.

He had made a lot of mistakes in his life. The kind that kept him up at night, hollowing him out. And he remembered once asking Bruce if he had made a mistake dragging Peter into war. Because deep down Tony knew that if he lost this kid, if he had his blood on his hands, it would swallow him whole.

Staring at the kind-hearted teen who had yet to fully grow into his gangly limbs as he clutched a weapon Tony had created, the billionaire instantly knew the answer.

He had been wrong to bring Peter—a _child_ —into this and though he couldn’t change the past, that didn’t mean he couldn’t do something about it now. 

Thanos was coming and he was no Cap. This wasn’t an internal dispute amongst the team, this was a firefight and it was going to be ugly and violent; it was revenge, an eye for an eye. And Peter had no goddamn business being anywhere near it all. The teen had already survived the monster once and that was by sheer luck. 

Tony’s stomach clenched at the idea of trying that luck once again.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter called tentatively. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” Tony blurted, snapping back to himself, not realizing he had drifted off in his thoughts. When he spoke next, his voice was purposefully brusque. “Oh, I’m great. Super. One-hundred percent.” He paused and then flicked his dark gaze over the teen, squinting. “Are _you_ holding up okay? Need anything?”

Peter shook his head almost instantly. “No. I’m good, Mr. Stark.”

Tony smiled at him and it was more of a tight grimace than anything else. He drummed a quick pattern on the chair with both hands and inwardly braced himself. 

“Listen… things are about to get pretty messy around here. I’d feel a lot better if you were someplace else—”

Incredulous, Peter’s voice rose over his. “You’re sending me away?”

“—somewhere safer.” Tony finished with a heavy look. 

Peter was staring at him as if he had betrayed him. But Tony tried to ignore to look, told himself he was immune to it, even as the center of his chest started to burn and twist up like a gnarled tree root.

_Maybe I really do have a heart after all._

Sighing, the billionaire rubbed a calloused hand over his face and finally managed in a low tone, “I’ve taken too many chances with you, Peter. I don’t want to take this one. Pepper and Happy—remember him?” Tony paused and Peter nodded very slowly. “They’re at my lake house, it’s not too far, just a couple hours out, but it’s safe. I want you to go there.”

“No.”

Tony’s eyes flashed and he bristled. “I’m not asking, kid.”

Across from him, Peter slowly lifted his head and instantly Tony recognized the stubborn set of his jaw, but not as a look that was common on Peter’s face. No, this was a look Tony often wore himself. A look the teen must have learned from him and fuck if it didn’t set Tony’s teeth on edge.

“I’m staying here.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Tony challenged right back.

The muscle in Peter’s jaw ticked. His gaze dropped to the floor, nostrils flaring, and the kid looked like his teeth were about to crack with how hard he was clenching his jaw. Finally—

“You’re not my father, Mr. Stark.”

Speechless, Tony just stared at him as something very much like hurt flashed through his chest. But Peter didn’t take it back and Tony didn’t expect him to. 

Schooling his expression, the billionaire tried again. “You’re absolutely right. I’m not,” Tony worked very hard to keep his voice purposefully nonchalant. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you safe.”

Peter’s face did not change. Silence stretched between the two of them and Tony was at a loss as to what to do.

He wasn’t the kid’s father. He wasn’t even his keeper. But he was responsible for bringing him here in the first place and that meant something to Tony ( _Peter_ meant something to Tony as well, not that he’d ever admit it aloud).

They were breeching territory that both were distinctly uncomfortable with and neither knew quite what to say next, until—

“What about you?” Peter asked suddenly, his head snapping up, a deep frown in his brows.

Tony blinked, thrown by the sudden change of subject.

“What about me?”

“Who keeps you safe?”

He scoffed. _Loudly_. “I don’t need—”

“Bullshit.”

Peter didn’t shout it; he didn’t need to. The word cracked like a whip through the lab and Tony felt its sting lick his skin. Shocked, he stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around before turning it towards the teen. “I’m sorry, maybe I’m going deaf, but what did you just say to my face?”

A beat of silence. Then—

“Bullshit,” the teen repeated and then something very much like amazement flushed through his young expression, like he couldn’t quite believe the word was coming out of his mouth either. And he began to nod and inflate with confidence and purpose, as though he were a balloon. “Yeah,” Peter squeaked out, nodding more firm. “ _Bullshit_. If I’m an Avenger, and you said that I am,” he added swiftly, pointing a finger at Tony with raised brows when the older man began to open his mouth. “Then I’m not abandoning you. I’m staying here. This is my fight as much as it is yours. It’s my duty—as an _Avenger_ , Mr. Stark. This is what we’re all about.”

Eyeing the kid, the billionaire rubbed his chin and squinted. “Convince me.”

“What?”

“Convince me. Give me a reason to let you stay.”

“Uh, Mr. Stark, I don’t know if you’ve looked around this place,” Peter’s eyes widened dramatically as he swung around in his rolling chair using the tips of his toes to push his body, repulsor still tucked firmly in his lap. “But we need all the help we can get.”

For a long time, Tony just stared at the teen. Then—

“As much as I don’t like it,” came a deep and official sounding voice from the lab entrance. Tony and Peter whirled around to find a living, breathing Dorito approaching in that no-nonsense way of his (seriously, did the guy _ever_ relax?). Steve Rogers had that infamous cool expression on his face, his blue eyes flicking from Peter, down to the weapon, and back to Tony, “He’s right about needing help and the kid’s not half bad in a fight.”

Peter smiled brightly at first, and then his smile fell slightly towards the end. “Thanks, I think?”

Ignoring him, Steve came to a stop a few feet away, his blue gaze naturally seeking out the gauntlet in the next workstation over and Tony knew the question he was about to ask before it ever left his lips.

“How much longer until it’s ready?” Steve stared down at Tony. He didn’t need to specify what he meant; the man had been haunting the lab ever since Tony announced the gauntlet plans.

Slightly annoyed at the interruption, the billionaire flashed Steve the smile he reserved for fundraisers and politicians.

“Patience is a virtue,” Tony informed him and then skimmed his gaze over the stupidly tall specimen and his perfect posture. “In the meantime, while you wait, you should try and unbend your back a little. Have you ever slouched in your life or did you come out of the womb stiff as a board?”

“ _Tony_.” Steve warned, looking absolutely fed up. “We’ve been through this. Save the jokes for after we save the world.”

Unable to stop, not when the other man left such a solid opening, Tony quipped, “Just to be clear, are you giving me free reign once we put Thanos in the grave? Because I gotta say, that sounds—”

“ _Just tell me how long, goddamnit!_ ” 

Peter flinched at the volume but Tony stayed perfectly still. He, out of all people, knew the rage Steven Grant Rogers was capable of—he bore the scars of it on his body. The billionaire slowly let his cool gaze travel down to Steve’s clenched, shaking fists and back up. When his eyes reached Steve’s face once more, saying nothing, the blond flushed. His wide chest expanded and his fists gradually unclenched, as if he had to force himself to relax.

Steve wet his lips, adding a much quieter, if not desperate, “Please.”

It was the please that got Tony. Not that Cap was using the word because he always used his fucking manners, but it was the _way_ he said it, the way his eyes got a little wild around the edges—the helplessness that bled through.

And goddamnit, Tony knew how that felt; to love someone so desperately and want to protect them but being unable to.

Never in his life did Tony think he would relate to Captain America, but here he was.

“It’ll be ready tomorrow morning,” he told Steve and then after a long moment, added a quiet, “How is she?”

Steve’s shoulders dropped, just slightly, but the fact that they dropped at all had Tony on high alert. The blond reached up and ran a hand through his dark beard, scratching at his jaw. 

“Not so great,” Steve admitted quietly. “It’s taking a toll on her. She hides it pretty well though.”

Tony nodded slowly, his mind flashing to the odd surge of energy the stone gave off last night. His eyes drifted to the workstation where the nearly finished gauntlet sat. Keeping his gaze there, he asked, “Do you trust me?”

A beat of silence. Then—

“I do.”

There was conviction in his voice; those two words could hold bricks alone. Tony dragged his gaze back up to Steve. “Alright,” he lifted his brows slightly. “Then trust that I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure Darcy is as safe as she can be when she does this. It’s not ideal, but we’re all trying here.”

Whether Steve was surprised or not, he didn’t show it. His expression was made of stone, but he did offer Tony his hand.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve told him in a quiet tone. His brows drew together and lifted in the middle. “It means a lot.”

Tony slapped his hand into Steve’s.

“Consider repayment in the form of helping me hold down the fort.”

“Hey!” Peter complained and Tony’s mouth split into a wide grin—a true one.

“Me and the kid,” he amended.

“Wait,” Peter gasped, “does that mean I can stay? _Yes_.” The teen pumped his fist in the air and nearly hit his elbow on the repulsor trigger. Making a face, Tony carefully reached for it and plucked the weapon out of Peter’s lap to rest on the table next to them. Peter watched, clearly not caring from the massive smile he wore. “I promise I won’t let you down.”

Tony gave the teen a fond, if not exasperated look. 

“To be honest, I’m surprised you asked me to stay behind.” Steve brought the billionaire’s attention back to him with his quiet admission and Tony’s mouth opened immediately, and then snapped shut.

Tony remembered the wild panic that shot through him when he told Steve in front of the whole goddamn team that he needed him to stay and help. He remembered the exact thought that went through his head, the driving force that pushed the words out of his mouth.

It would be easy to come up with a cheap answer, but cheap answers weren’t the truth. And if they were going to do this, then Steve deserved to know the truth.

“We’ve got a lot of history between us, Cap, good and bad. I’m not one to really believe in fate, but we can’t deny that every second of it has led to this and, well… I… Listen, I’m not half as good at—at anything as I am when I’m doing it next to you. And that’s the truth.” Tony’s dark eyes met Steve’s for a long moment and though they had reached a truce earlier, back at the safehouse, this felt like it was the real deal.

Silently, Steve weighed the words, giving Tony a measuring look. Whatever he found, must have been enough because the blond slowly nodded.

“I told you a long time ago that whether we win or lose, we’ll do it together. That’s still my word,” Steve reminded him and Tony’s throat tightened at that memory, at how he had hated Steve for so _fucking_ long because he broke that goddamn promise. 

When Tony’s world had shattered, when the trauma he had spent years piling dirt on came to life and unearthed itself, Steve was nowhere to be found (or, actually he was, he just happened to be leading the opposing side). And, okay, maybe Tony should have also taken the olive branch Steve had offered after everything, but that time was long gone. It was water under the bridge. 

All they had was now.

All they had was each other.

“Together then,” Tony agreed. “I hope you’ve got a plan, Cap, because I’m ready to kick some alien ass.”

The blond grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “I’m working on it.”

Tony simply nodded in response, his lips tentatively quirking up.

“So, can I have the blaster?” Peter piped up from the side.

Groaning, Tony rolled his eyes heavenward. _Parenting, sheesh, how the hell do people do this all day?_

And then an idea struck.

“How about this, Spider-ling,” Tony began with an evil little grin. “Since Capsicle here is so keen on your skills, I’m deeming him the overseer of this operation. You,” Tony pointed at Steve and then grabbed the repulsor and handed it to him. The blond took it with an unamused raised brow. Which only sharpened Tony’s grin like the blade of a knife. “Take this and get out of my lab. Peter and Treebeard have an idea and you get to make sure they don’t lose a hand.”

* * *

The Compound was eerily silent as they walked through it to the clinic. It was a path Darcy could make with her eyes closed at this point. She had told the man at her side that she could go alone to get the tonic Thor had left for her, but Bucky wasn’t too fond of that. 

In fact, Bucky didn’t seem too fond of the idea of leaving her side at all today given the face he made at her mere suggestion. Which Darcy supposed she deserved, after their conversation earlier. 

_Or maybe he’s just as spooked as you are by the dreams._

Pondering that, her gaze slid to Bucky as they rounded the corner and she let herself wonder, for a moment, what exactly it was that he dreamed about her last night. He mentioned she was in it but didn’t say what happened, simply that it messed with him. Darcy didn’t have the guts to ask for more details, but the question was at the forefront of her mind.

“You eaten yet?” Bucky asked suddenly, slanting a look her way and subsequently catching her mid-stare.

Darcy jolted and swiftly flicked her eyes away from him as they entered the clinic. Her lips twisted and her stomach churned at the idea of food. “No.”

Bucky nodded breezily, like it was the answer he expected. “We’ll stop by the kitchen after.”

“I’m not hungry.”

It was an answer she knew he wouldn’t like, but she didn’t give a damn. She really wasn’t hungry. Darcy hadn’t been hungry in a while, thanks to the stupid stone slowly sucking the life out of her—anything she ate just wanted to come back up.

“Never said it was for you,” Bucky led her over to an empty cot. Darcy blindly sat down, frowning slightly up at the dark-haired man. He winked at her, a small grin playing about his lips. “ _I’m_ hungry.”

Before Darcy could respond, footsteps approached as Bruce wandered out from the back of the clinic with a kind smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Darcy murmured back, tearing her eyes away from the dark-haired man to greet Bruce with a genuine grin. After all the hours she spent in here, she had grown rather fond of his calming presence. 

Plus, she was pretty sure she owed the man her life.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, brows lifting. “Hey Doc,” he called. “We’re here for the medication Thor left for Darcy.”

“Ah,” Bruce nodded easily. Pushing his glasses further up his nose, the scientist pointed to the large refrigerator against the wall. It had a glass door and multiple shelves inside filled with different kinds of medication and samples. Both Darcy and Bucky watched him carefully pull out a tray with ten small, silver cylinders, each with their own individual cap over the top.

Bruce brought it over to the starch white table beside the cot Darcy sat on. He plucked one out and uncapped it, squinting at the contents slightly as he swirled them.

“Thor never quite told me what the ingredients of this was, just that it was a healing tonic from Asgard used to rejuvenate the body and replenish nutrients.”

“That’s about as much as he told me,” Darcy shrugged, heart twisting at the mere thought of her gentle-hearted friend. Next to her, Bucky’s brows furrowed as he stared at the tubes suspiciously. Catching that look, Darcy shifted in her seat until Bucky’s eyes darted back to her. She lifted both brows, adding more for him than for Bruce. “But it _did_ make me feel a lot better, I remember that very clearly. It was like a crazy energy boost as well. Thor told me he worked out the measurements so that it wouldn’t overwhelm me as a human. He—he’s had some training as a healer on Asgard.”

“I don’t doubt it. He’s been a great help to me on more than one occasion. I trust Thor,” Bruce agreed and then spared the two of them a quirky grin. “But the scientist in me wants to keep one of these and dissect the contents to find out what exactly we’re working with. It’s not everyday we get medicine from another planet.”

“Or from a god,” Darcy added with a snicker.

“Exactly,” Bruce agreed with a small smile, still holding the tonic.

“Maybe you can ask for some when you see Thor again,” Bucky muttered and something about his tone had both Darcy and Bruce turning to the dark-haired man. His expression was grave and he nodded his chin at the tray. “The dose is one a day, right?” Bruce nodded and Bucky continued. “Then she’s gonna to need all of those.”

“We’re going to be gone that long?” Darcy asked and Bucky glanced down at her, saying nothing. She sat back, stunned.

“Oh,” Bruce exclaimed, eyes going wide. He shook his head, “I didn’t plan on actually taking one. Just speculating.”

Bucky seemed to measure Bruce’s words and then he nodded sharply. He was acting far more serious than she was used to and if it weren’t for the damn spell, Darcy would poke him in his side. 

“Will we have to keep those chilled?”

Bruce twisted and looked at the tray before turning back to both of them. “I’m afraid so. I have a small cooler that should hold the temperature for twelve hours before needing to be refilled.”

“We’ll take it.”

Bruce nodded genially, handing Darcy the single dosage. 

She was careful to take it, leaving plenty of space so that their fingers didn’t touch. The metal was cool against her fingertips and Darcy dipped her head, sniffing at the liquid inside. The familiar sweet floral scent rose up to meet her and her body’s response to the honey lavender aroma was automatic—as if it remembered.

Sighing as her lungs seemed to greedily suck in the smell, she didn’t hesitate to knock back the tonic in one single shot. 

The liquid slid down her throat with a tingle, as though it were _life_ itself, before gathering in her belly and spreading to her limbs like warm honey. _God_ , this was the best thing she had ever tasted in her entire life and it didn’t even taste like food or drink. It was sunshine on a warm summer day, it was sleeping twelve hours straight and waking up to a lazy morning with no other plan but to stay in bed, it was a hot bath with candles and bubbles galore, it was eating a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and saving all the chocolate chips for the end to scoop up in one big, melty, chocolatey bite—it was pure ecstasy.

“I think this is a good time to remind everyone that Thor said it can be quite addictive.”

Darcy heard the words as though they were spoken underwater and she gradually blinked her eyes open, not realizing that at some point she must have closed them. Not to mention, she was swaying slightly on the cot, like she was being rocked back and forth by some invisible force.

Both men were watching her, slightly amused, and Darcy flushed.

“Tastes really good,” she mumbled, lifting one shoulder in a small shrug. “If you end up being able to get a closer look at this stuff, Bruce, you should take note of the taste and work that into our disgusting human medicine. This shit is the bomb.”

She knew she was rambling, but she didn’t care. Darcy felt like she was on cloud nine and Bucky was staring down at her, his mouth splitting into a slow kind of grin—the kind that told Darcy to be very careful about what was going to come out of his mouth next.

“It must be good,” Bucky agreed in a voice like midnight, “considering the sound you just made.”

It took a few seconds for that to register but when it did, she jerked back and scrunched her nose in shock. “I made a sound?”

“Sure did,” his eyes sparkled down at her and for a moment, Darcy was trapped in his hurricane gaze. As if he had her right where he wanted her, Bucky’s grin became downright wicked and his voice dropped low. “It was a real pretty sound, too.”

Darcy’s eyes were perfect circles and Bucky wore a very pleased expression on his face. He opened his mouth to say god knows what else when—

“ _And_ this is where I take my leave,” Bruce rushed out, jerking both Darcy and Bucky back to the present. The scientist’s cheeks were pink as he hurried to the fridge and pulled out a small container. “Here’s the cooler. You can store it in the mini fridge in your room, she gets one dosage each morning and no more. Let me know if you have any other questions.”

Darcy pressed her lips together to hold in her giggle, the buzz from the tonic hit her hard as Bucky took the cooler from the flustered man.

“Thanks,” Bucky gave him a slightly apologetic grin, and then stopped short. “Hey Doc?”

Bruce lifted both brows in response.

Bucky eyed him for a moment, something clearing bothering him. “You stayin’ here? To fight?” 

Darcy’s smile slid off her lips slowly as she turned to Bruce. In truth, she hadn’t thought about what he would be doing when all of this went down and the thought of the soft-spoken man facing off against Thanos and his army while so vulnerable made Darcy’s blood turn cold. 

“I fought in Wakanda against Thanos. You might not remember,” Bruce told him quietly. He stared at Bucky, something bittersweet shining through his eyes. “I didn’t have the Hulk then either. Tony’s got me covered with a special suit. I’ll be as fine as anyone else in this.”

“Bruce,” Darcy started, her voice breaking. “I could—with the stone?”

The shutters behind Bruce’s eyes slammed shut even as his voice remained soft as ever. 

“No, Darcy. Our deal still stands and I’d appreciate it if you honored that.”

* * *

“Alright Queens, where do you want to start?”

Peter was squinting as he looked around the terrain. They had wandered a couple hundred feet into the forest, just enough that the temperature dropped under the canopy of branches and the ground beneath their feet turned from soft grass to a layer of dead leaves, pine needles, and twigs. Speckles of watery sunlight sifted through the trees, swaying gently in the summer breeze. Steve had picked out at least four spots almost instantaneously that would be ideal for setting a trap but kept his mouth firmly shut. This was Peter’s project, Peter’s idea, and from the brief time Steve had spent with the teenager, he knew he was smart as a whip. 

He’d figure it out in no time.

“I’d say one over there,” Peter pointed to the first spot Steve had internally noted and the blond nodded in agreement.

“Southeast,” Steve supplied. 

“Yeah, you see that big fallen tree?” Peter asked and the older man waited as the teen explained. “The trunk is pretty big. I’d say we put one pit just on the other side of that so when they step over, the momentum will already be prepping them to fall. Plus, even if we cover them pretty well, it’ll help to have it blocked from sight.”

“Good choice. How many pits are you thinking?”

“I am Groot?”

Steve turned around at the questioning tone in those three words and then his eyes bulged comically as he took in the third member of their little party. Groot’s wooden finger curiously hovered over one of the repulsor blasters laying on the ground. Earlier, Steve had grabbed two extra blasters from Tony’s stash and clearly handing one to Peter had been a mistake. The teen must have set it down as they wandered deeper into the tree line surrounding the Compound and neither of them had accounted for Groot.

And they really should have.

Big, innocent, brown eyes blinked up at Steve and then flicked down to the trigger like it was a goddamn Skittle.

“ _Do not_ ,” Steve barked harshly, lifting a warning finger “touch that button.”

“I am _Groot_ ,” the tree replied, uncomprehending. His finger inched closer to the big, red button and Steve coiled up.

“Bad, Groot!” Peter tried, shaking his finger in the air and if it weren’t such a dangerous situation, Steve would have groaned aloud. “ _Bad!_ ”

“I mean it, Groot!” Steve shouted, his blood pressure skyrocketing. “Step ba—”

“I am Groot.” 

Groot touched the button.

“Oh, _you little shit!_ ”

The repulsor was facing the ground, thankfully, but the blast still sent an enormous shower of soil and leaves and debris in the air. A flock of birds took flight in the branches above, squawking in the air as they fluttered and flapped their wings. Steve’s eyes squeezed shut and he lifted both arms to protect his face as dirt literally rained from the sky, pelting the top of his head and shoulders.

As the dust cleared and Groot picked himself up off the ground, unharmed, the tree looked at him and his small wooden mouth split into a slow but delighted smile. He pointed at Steve gleefully, brown eyes absolutely shining, and the blond could only imagine what he looked like covered in all this shit.

He was going to kill Tony.

* * *

Darcy hopped onto the counter while Bucky picked through the pantry. Kicking her bare feet, she tried not to think about the _look_ Thor would give her for going without shoes as she let her heels thunk against the cabinet obnoxiously. She missed the Big Guy something awful and Darcy found the best way to not have a meltdown about his absence entirely was simply to not think about it. Was it a tactic that would hold up forever? Not really, but it was working for now and that was all that mattered.

It had been half an hour since she had taken the medicine and Darcy was buzzing with energy (a minor side effect of the _Eirflower_ tonic, apparently). Was her heart racing? She wasn’t entirely sure, but she felt like she could run a marathon—scratch that. The fact that she _wanted_ to run at all was shocking.

This was some good shit.

“So, what’s for lunch?” Darcy asked brightly, chewing on her thumbnail to give her hands something to do.

“Thought you weren’t hungry,” Bucky’s voice floated out of the walk-in pantry and Darcy could hear the smile in his words. Like he had planned this all along, the asshole.

She pursed her lips and continued kicking her feet. “I wasn’t, until I had Thor’s super-duper medicine,” Darcy chirped. “Now, I am.”

“Mm,” Bucky rumbled and came out of the pantry with a handheld shaker and a giant container of protein. He followed her gaze down to it and shrugged. “Besides premade shit, ‘m’not very good at cooking. Steve’s the one that learned. I can make a mean bag of chips and a solid protein shake though.”

“NASA, we have a problem,” Darcy shook her head sadly and then slid off the counter. 

Bucky tilted his head at her, squinting. “Isn’t that supposed to be ‘Houston, we have a problem?’”

“Semantics.” She scoffed. Approaching the pantry, Darcy stopped a solid six feet away and flapped her hands at the man like she was scaring off a bird. “Shoo.”

He did not shoo.

Instead, Bucky grinned down at her boyishly and held his ground knowing full well Darcy couldn’t and wouldn’t _dream_ of touching him. Frowning, Darcy made the motion again, “I said _shoo_. Let me in there and I’ll find something for us to eat.”

“Go ahead,” the dark-haired man chuckled and finally moved out of her way. 

Darcy rolled her eyes at him and _hmphed_ dramatically before marching into the pantry. Bending down, she snagged a loaf of bread and quickly spied a jar of peanut butter nearby. As she grabbed both of those, Darcy was highly aware of the way Bucky’s eyes tracked her every move.

“How do you feel about a childhood classic: peanut butter and jelly?” She asked as she straightened and then peered over her shoulder at the man. She also happened to catch his eyes on her ass for a millisecond before they flicked up to her face. Smirking, Darcy waggled her brows, “I’ll even put a spin on it and we’ll make it _toasted_ peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

A beat of silence.

“Sounds good to me,” Bucky told her, a secret grin playing about his lips.

His eyes followed her as she went to the fridge and Darcy may or may not have bent over again (and it may or may not have been needed) to grab the jelly. She also may have arched her back a little, because who wouldn’t when they knew a man like _that_ was watching their every move? Turning around, this time Bucky’s eyes were slower in their journey to her face and from the look on his face, he knew exactly what she was doing. 

_Playing with fucking fire, that’s what._

Darcy held his gaze boldly and later she would blame the tonic for giving her the extra courage as she sauntered over to the counter, letting her hips swing more than usual. Setting the jar down, she tapped the lip of it with her nail.

“Did you enjoy it, Sarge?” Darcy had meant for the question to be playful, but it came out lower and more sensual—her tongue apparently had a mind of its own.

Bucky’s brows raised in response, everything about him coming to attention. He wet his lips, “Enjoy what?”

“Staring at my ass.”

There was a long moment of silence and Bucky’s eyes burned her like two hot coals. He was still, so still, like he was afraid she would turn tail and flee if he moved too quickly. Finally, he bit his bottom lip and slowly released it.

“And if I did enjoy it?” He asked in a deep rumble and it seeped through Darcy’s stomach like a breathy sigh, warming her core in an almost embarrassing manner.

Her heart stuttered. 

“You know, I didn’t really have a response beyond calling you out,” Darcy admitted in a breathy kind of laugh. She tucked her hair behind her ear nervously but couldn’t help the large grin she wore. “I just wanted to see if you’d admit it. _So!_ Um… Food. Yes, food. Let’s eat.”

Tearing her gaze away from the hooded look Bucky was giving her, Darcy dug around the drawers, searching for a butter knife. The entire time it was like a volcano of butterflies had erupted in the pit of her stomach. 

“You keep this up, Darcy, and it’s going to be a _very_ interesting little trip we’re about to go on.”

She froze mid-search and oh so slowly lifted her gaze to his. Stomach flipping, she swallowed audibly, “You promise?”

Bucky flashed her a smile, bright and brilliant and beautiful.

“I swear it.”

* * *

That evening, Darcy was curled up in a plush armchair near the window in Steve and Bucky’s room when the door opened. 

It had been a long day. 

Hell, it had been a long _month_.

Once the _Eirflower_ tonic wore off, exhaustion seemed to climb under her skin and wrap around her very bones. It became harder to push away the thoughts and fears of what lay ahead of her as the sun sank deep beyond the horizon.

Bucky had stuck by her side the entire day; every time Darcy got caught up in her worries or overwhelmed or even the slightest bit afraid, he was there with a distraction of some sort. Usually it was questions about her life, about Jane’s work, about films and books that she liked, about her schooling and her degree and her thoughts on the political climate (before Thanos, that is). It was nice to talk about things that felt, well, normal. And, if she was honest, it was nice to talk to Bucky without some big agenda, to just get a feel for the man she was dating-not-dating.

Eventually though, Darcy’s eyes began to droop in a manner that even the strongest Asgardian medicine could not fix. She didn’t tell Bucky that with the exhaustion came the incessant desire to want to go to the labs and just _look_ at the stone. Not touch it, but to be near it. It was like a constant nudge in the center of her chest.

And that frightened Darcy, deeply.

Loki had warned her this would happen, that it was a consequence of being tied to the Soul Stone, but the onslaught of it felt so sudden. It was like the Soul Stone _knew_ what was going to happen tomorrow. 

From the way it spoke to her in her dream last night, Darcy didn’t doubt that at all.

As the sun began to set, Bucky wrangled up a cot up for her and singlehandedly hauled it into his and Steve’s room, something which Darcy thoroughly enjoyed watching (seriously, the way the muscles in his back bunched and rolled under his tight gray shirt was a thing of beauty). She also may have deliriously shouted ‘ _Pivot!_ ’ at him more than once, much to the poor man’s confusion. 

_That_ was on her list of things to immediately fix once all of this was over. 

Once the bed was situated against the wall, Darcy demanded he let her be useful and went about getting the sheets on while Bucky jogged down to her room to grab her duffle bag.

 _Just in case._ He had said before slipping through the door.

One thing Darcy had learned about James Buchanan Barnes was that he was… very… thorough (she was not going to say paranoid, she _wasn’t_ ). It was funny, almost, because everyone on the team called Steve the Man with the Plan and he was a brilliant strategist… but Bucky? Well, where Steve had one plan, Bucky had six more and a backup.

While she waited for him to return, Darcy took the prime opportunity to curl up in the cream colored oversized armchair next to the window. She had just tucked her feet under her when the doorknob slowly turned. 

Lifting both brows, she wholeheartedly expected Bucky.

What she got instead was Steve looking for all the world like he had been involved in a full-fledged mud wrestling tournament (was that a leaf behind his ear?). His blond hair was, well, it wasn’t blond at all, not right now, and all Darcy could see that was recognizable about him was the violent blue of his eyes.

Her mouth dropped open in shock and Steve stood, frozen in the doorway, copying her exact expression.

“We’ve got a girl in our room,” he exclaimed in a surprised murmur.

Blinking rapidly, Darcy started to grin, or laugh, or perhaps it was a mixture of both as she took in the ridiculousness of the man. Her shoulders shook and she wrapped her arms tighter around her legs as they curled into her chest, eyes dragging over every inch of Steve with great amusement. 

“Hi,” she chuckled and tilted her head, at a complete loss. “Did you suddenly become a chimney sweep? Why are you covered in… is that soil?”

“ _Christ almighty_ , Steven,” came a voice like Brooklyn from somewhere in the hallway behind Steve’s hulking figure. “I leave you alone for one goddamn day. What the fuck happened?”

Steve twisted around, stepping deeper into the room, chunks of dirt shaking loose from the wrinkles in his clothes. Bucky’s incredulous face was locked on him, Darcy’s duffle bag slung over his left shoulder. His expression demanded an answer and Darcy burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

She laughed until her stomach hurt and Steve rolled his eyes at her fondly. He walked deeper into the room and behind him, Bucky clucked his tongue harshly.

“No fuckin’ way, drop trou, soldier. It’s straight to the shower for you,” the dark-haired man ordered.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Steve sucked in a lungful of air. “You should see the other guy.”

“Care to explain?” Darcy asked through her laughter.

“Babysitting duty,” was all Steve said and then he grinned, his white teeth a sharp contrast to the dirt covering him. Steve turned to his lover, his voice low. “Hey Buck? There’s a _girl_ in our room.”

A pause.

“I kinda noticed,” Bucky snorted and shifted forward, holding Steve’s gaze. “Maybe I even invited her.”

“How’d you manage to get her in here though? I’ve tried.”

Bucky grinned and murmured, “I have my ways.”

Darcy watched the two of them raptly as they had a silent conversation after that. It wasn’t because they didn’t want her to hear, but it was a kind of communication that they seemed to do naturally, out of familiarity and an inherent ability to understand one another. 

_Geez, they really are an old married couple._ Darcy grinned to herself, feeling her stomach flutter as she watched them. 

Finally, Bucky broke out into a grin and lifted both brows, sweeping his gaze over Steve. “You really are filthy.”

“Usually you don’t mind,” Steve answered in a voice like sex and Darcy’s eyes widened. 

She shifted in her seat slightly, but the movement was enough to catch both of their attention. They turned, almost as one, and she went still under their gazes. Bucky’s lips kept that same mischievous smile that she was starting to identify as his signature look.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky said, his voice soft, “we’ve got a _girl_ in our room now.”

The elated, boyish way both men repeated that line and the mud-caked Steve finally cracked something in Darcy.

“Oh, my god,” Darcy laughed and covered her face with her hands. “You two are such dorks. How did I get stuck with you? Is it too late to trade in for a newer, less dorky model?”

“’Fraid so,” Bucky sighed dramatically and walked towards the bathroom, reaching inside to flip on the light. “Besides, from your blush, Darce,” he began, the corner of his lips tugging upwards, “I think you like us this way.”

Well, there was no denying that. 

Darcy rolled her lips over her teeth, pressing them together to try and hold back a happy grin as she ducked her head. She said nothing in response, but from the looks on both men’s faces, she didn’t need to.

There was a solid _thunk_ as Bucky dropped her duffle next to another (his, she imagined) against the wall. He whistled for Steve while pointing to the shower. The blond gave him a flat, unimpressed look but obeyed, thank god. 

Bucky smacked his ass as he walked by and the result resembled a cloud of chalk exploding off two erasers when beat together… except with crumbles of dirt. Steve yelped in surprise (a noise she had _never_ heard him make) and Darcy snickered from her seat. The bathroom door slammed shut in Bucky’s face a second later, nearly hitting him in the nose, and the dark-haired man just grinned, his gaze darting back to Darcy to share in the laugh.

And it was only then that she noticed Bucky had the blanket he had given her during their date on the roof clutched in his right hand. He must have grabbed it when he went to fetch her duffle and Darcy’s toes curled at the sight of it. 

Did she feel dumb getting all mushy over such a small thing? Absolutely. But did she care? 

The answer was a resounding _no_. The world was ending, she might die tomorrow and there were literally no fucks she could give.

“Thought you might want it,” Bucky followed her gaze down to the soft material.

“You thought right,” Darcy nodded making grabby hands at it. “Gimme.”

Amused, Bucky brought it over and she snatched the blanket from his grip with a happy hum low in the back of her throat. Darcy tossed it out over herself and promptly snuggled in.

“Demanding little thing,” Bucky commented in a fond tone.

Slowly, Darcy skimmed her gaze up his body to look at him from under her lashes. “Hmm, well, to use your own words: from the way you stared at my ass earlier today, I think you like me like that.”

For a long time, Bucky just looked at her. His gaze was like a flame and Darcy was the moth, drawn in helplessly.

“Steve was right, y’know.” He rumbled lowly and Darcy’s heartrate doubled.

Her throat was dry but she still managed a soft, “Is that so?”

Bucky nodded, the dip of his chin slow and controlled. “You’re pretty mouthy,” the words spilled from his lips like sap from a tree. “If we continue down this path, Darce, we’re gonna give him hell.”

Desire shot through her at the idea and her chest flared in a warm, tingly sensation.

“Maybe I’ll just give you hell,” she challenged, her voice quiet. Bucky lifted one brow and she smirked. “I recognize a strategic treaty when I see one, Sarge, and I think you’re worried.”

There was a rainstorm trapped in his eyes and Bucky slowly bent down until he gripped both arms of the chair, trapping her. Inhaling sharply, Darcy jerked back at his closeness, pressing into the cushion behind her, so afraid something might slip and the spell would strike, but Bucky didn’t seemed affected at all. In fact, he crowded in closer, as if he almost enjoyed the idea of flirting with the danger.

When he spoke, his breath was a warm puff of air over her skin. 

“A word of warning: it goes both ways. You give me hell and you better be ready to take it,” his eyes darkened at those last two words and Darcy gulped, a desperate sort of want pulsing through her. Bucky dragged his gaze over her face slowly, spending a long minute staring at her mouth before they flashed back to her eyes. “Might want to reconsider my offer. Steve’s _awful_ fun to rile up.”

The bathroom door opened suddenly, and Darcy’s pulse jumped in her throat. She nearly yelped, gaze flying to Steve who was still as a statue in the doorway, his body a dark shadow against the light behind him.

Bucky didn’t move away from her, no, the son of a bitch just peeked over his shoulder and Darcy could only imagine the look on his face given Steve’s lifted brows. Or maybe he was raising them because her face was literally burning cherry red?

“You two have a good day, I take it?” Steve asked, his face gradually transforming into one big fucking grin.

“Mhm,” Darcy squeaked out, nodding her head. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything else, not with the way her blood felt like it was _buzzing_ beneath her skin.

Straightening with exquisite slowness, Bucky gave Steve a once over, “That was the fastest wash you’ve ever taken in your whole goddamn life. You’d think you were in a rush to get back out here or somethin’. Did you check behind your ears, Stevie?”

Steve flipped him off and Bucky clucked his tongue, moving towards the blond like a goddamn predator. Darcy watched, her breath still yet to return fully to her lungs.

Steve watched, too, with great interest. When Bucky was close enough to grab Steve by the back of the neck and pull him slightly down to meet his lips in a searing kiss, the blond all but fell into him with a groan that Darcy knew all too well, had heard from Steve’s own mouth before.

By the time Bucky was done, Steve’s wet hair was standing up at all angles and the brunette just chuckled before slipping past him into the bathroom.

Steve turned slightly, watching him go, before whirling back around to Darcy, dazed. His long wet hair caught the light behind him, outlining in a shiny glow and Darcy took the moment to study his face, its curves and angles. She studied his bright blue eyes and the hope that lived there in this moment, the kind she prayed never faded, was never stolen, eyes that looked at her and at Bucky with such devotion and a depth of love that Darcy was sure she had never felt before in her entire life.

“I’m really glad you’re here tonight, sweetheart.” Steve spoke quietly, eyes shining brighter than she had ever seen and she realized, not for the first time, how badly Steve wanted this.

And Darcy was starting to want it, too. 

She was starting to understand what was _possible_.

Flicking her gaze to the open bathroom door, she heard Bucky brush his teeth with a startling kind of ferocity. She nodded her chin in his direction, eyes sliding back to Steve. Darcy widened her eyes in a clear, ‘holy fucking shit, I was not prepared for him’ kind of manner.

Steve flashed her a lightning quick grin, running a hand through his freshly tangled hair. A laugh punched out of his chest, more of a sudden exhale than anything else. 

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” he kept his voice a quiet whisper. “Buck waited longer than I thought to turn it on you full force.”

“ _Jesus_.” She blinked, flicking her gaze off to the side, unable to really grasp that this was her life right now. 

Darcy fucking Lewis in a possible polyamorous relationship with Captain America and the Winter Soldier.

Ho- _ly_ shit, what did she do to deserve this? Did Thor put in a good word with the Fates or something?

“You let us know if it’s too much or too fast, okay?” Steve spoke up suddenly, his voice much closer than it had been moments ago and Darcy snapped her gaze back to him. He had somehow managed to crouch in front of her chair without her noticing. “I mean it, sweetheart. Any time.”

“Thank you,” she whispered out, feeling like everything in her turned soft and sweet. Lifting her shoulders, she squinted happily at Steve and bit her lip. “I do have one very important question for you.”

“Of course.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you snore?”

Gob smacked, Steve had a look of shock (and maybe slight offense?) on his face. His mouth opened to speak but Bucky called out as he exited the bathroom.

“Only when he’s overly tired.”

Darcy leaned around Steve’s massive form and peered at Bucky in consideration. “Do _you_ snore?”

“Oh, I’m quiet as a lamb.” 

For some reason, something about the way Bucky said that had Darcy giving him a double take to which the man only offered her a shit eating grin in return. When he said nothing more, her lips twisted, and Darcy spared a glance for her makeshift cot. 

“Well, shit,” she harrumphed.

In front of her, Steve shifted forward on his haunches, like he wanted to touch her but with a fearful glance from Darcy, he stopped himself short and held up both hands.

“What’s wrong, Darcy?” Steve asked earnestly and she grimaced.

Both men waited. Then—

“ _I_ snore, damnit!” Darcy threw her hands out and the resounding silence that followed made her want to tug the blanket in her lap over her head miserably.

“I think we’ll survive,” Bucky informed her easily after a moment and Darcy gave him a doubtful look.

“You underestimate my snoring power. It once woke up _Thor_ and bothered him enough that he couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He actually got really grumpy about it.”

“If we can handle a little drool,” Steve said decisively, and Darcy’s face did something terrible at that memory. “I think we can handle snoring.”

Blinking, she tilted her head back to stare up at the blond Adonis, unable to believe that he still _liked_ her after all of that. “I really am the most unattractive sleeper there is.”

“Rambunctious maybe,” Bucky chipped in, moving over to the mini fridge. He opened it up and checked on the cooler Bruce had given them. Tossing a glance over his shoulder, he gave her a suggestive once over, “But I wouldn’t call you unattractive, sunshine.”

A pretty kind of pink bloomed on her cheeks and she muttered, “Famous last words.”

* * *

Tucked under the covers after an evening of teasing and laughter, Darcy fell asleep early, her mind automatically replaying the faces and reciting the names of the fallen Avengers like her own personal slideshow.

Everything was in place, the gauntlet would be ready first thing in the morning (Steve had guaranteed that), she would open the stone and then she and Bucky would leave directly after. It might go wrong, but it might go right, too, and that was enough of a trade off to make it worth it.

Darcy forced herself to remain calm and focused on the quiet breathing from the two men across the room. _This might be the last time I sleep in this Compound._

Then—

_This might be the last time I sleep at all._

Since she had first opened the Soul Stone, her life had been in danger several times, but this was different. It felt different. 

It felt like they stood a chance.

Because of her.

And if she died, Darcy’s mind shook at the thought, then at least she’d die doing something to help. The weird thing was, despite the possibility of the worst happening tomorrow, Darcy was calm as she drifted off to sleep. 

Peaceful, even.

* * *

“I can feel you staring and I’m not even the one you’re staring at,” Bucky’s sleep riddled voice rumbled low in Steve’s ear. A smooth metal arm tightened around Steve’s waist, using his body as momentum to press in closer to his back. Warm breath puffed against the back of his neck. “She’s _okay_ , Stevie. Get some sleep.”

“Mm.”

That metal hand slid up and tweaked Steve’s nipple and the blond jerked. Bucky chuckled, “I mean it.”

“Mhm,” Steve sighed out, keeping his voice muted so not to wake Darcy. She had finally fallen asleep about thirty minutes ago and the instant he knew she was fully under, Steve’s eyes opened.

He knew he wasn’t the only one who faked it until she was out cold. For all of Bucky’s talk, the brunette had yet to drift off. 

“Worry wart,” Bucky accused lightly, and Steve didn’t deny it.

He’d probably worry until the sun came up.

The room was dark, too dark for the average human to see much in it, even if their eyes adjusted. But Steve was anything but average. He could see just fine and for the life of him, he couldn’t take his eyes away from how small Darcy looked curled up in a little ball on that cot. Midnight hair splayed out wildly on the white pillow and he _hated_ that she was all the way over there—untouchable—on this night of all nights.

“I fucking hate this spell,” Steve spoke into the stillness, his heart bleeding into his words, turning his voice thick. “I’m trying not to show it around her but fucking hell, I should be able to hold her tonight. I should be able to hold both of you.”

Hot lips pressed against his shoulder in a lingering kiss. Those lips traveled gradually up his neck until Bucky whispered in his ear, “Well, I’m the one holdin’ you right now.”

“You know what I mean.”

A beat of silence.

“Soon enough, huh?” Bucky reassured him. “Soon enough. Now get some sleep, everything is gonna be fine.”

Bucky sighed and settled in even closer, which was a testament to the fact that he wasn’t nearly as calm about this as he claimed. Normally Bucky liked he space while he slept and Steve was the barnacle, but either Bucky knew Steve needed this or maybe Bucky needed the contact, too. Either way, Steve was glad for it.

Inhaling deeply, his eyes slid shut—

And then Darcy let out the loudest snore Steve had ever heard in his entire fucking life.

His eyes popped open and even Bucky jerked in surprise behind him, sitting up slightly. It was like she had turned into a human chain saw; the sound ripped through the silence like a knife through butter.

“ _Fuck me_ , I thought she was exaggerating,” Bucky chortled, his voice louder than before and clearly not concerned about waking up Sleeping Beauty over there.

Steve twisted around and glared at the other man. “I am not going to say a word to her and neither are you.”

Darcy snored again and the two men held each other’s gazes for a solid three seconds before silently shaking in uncontrollable laughter.

* * *

Later, Darcy would realize that they should have seen this coming.

* * *

_Hello sweet child, I’ve been waiting for you._

The voice of both one and many, young and old slithered out of the abyss. Pitch black surrounded her on all sides and her eyes widened, trying desperately to see something—anything. But there was nothing.

She was nothing.

 _Darcy, come to me,_ it crooned and the sound washed over her skin like the skittering legs of a thousand tiny spiders. It prickled and each individual hair along her arms stretched to the sky. Her blood marched in her ears and she could feel her heartbeat pulsing in her neck. The center of her chest, the center of her entire being, the entirety of who she was felt like it had been harpooned and the force on the other side _pulled_ until she had no choice but to follow.

Gasping, her feet stumbled in the nothingness around her and she heard the splashing of water but felt nothing. Hands stretched out before her, fingers spread wide, she shook as she shuffled forward.

_Darcy._

And in the distance, the stone appeared.

There was no red tinted world, there was no great mountain or sea of glass at her feet. This was an endless chasm and the Soul Stone flickering like a living flame. And she wanted to go to it—wanted to take hold of it.

 _Come to me, little one. Come, Darcy._

Transfixed, Darcy didn’t have to be pulled this time. The stone didn’t have to convince her, she went willingly, her lips dropping open as she picked up her feet and walked towards it. It was so far away but it was the only light in this endless darkness and she needed the light, she needed something other than this nothingness.

 _Closer._ Her heart pounded but she obeyed. Shaking like a dying autumn leaf, her feet shuffled towards the stone until hovered just in front of her face. 

She was close enough to grab it—

_Do it._

The voice gave the order and it was like being an outsider looking in, like the extension of her finger towards the glowing orange stone was happening to someone else and not her. Darcy’s breath trembled out of her lips and she closed the gap between her finger and the stone at the exact same time Bucky’s voice screamed her name.

“ _DARCY, WAKE UP!_ ”

* * *

“Report.”

Ebony Maw’s reptilian eyes gleamed in the shadows. He stepped forward into the pale blue light and knelt before his Lord’s throne, bowing his head. The steel floor was icy against his knee but he did not dare move.

“I found a gateway to the stonekeeper.”

Thanos stared coldly down at him and there was no sign of pride in his gaze, no curve of his mouth, no ‘well done’. After his grave mistake, Ebony Maw knew it would be a long time before he earned a place back in his Master’s good graces. Until then, he had a human woman to torment, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

“The ships are ready to strike,” Thanos told him. The great Titan had donned his golden armor, his wicked double-edged blade at his side. He slowly unfurled his body from the seat of power, weapon in hand. 

“You will go in and drag out the stonekeeper while I draw out the Avengers and find the Soul Stone. I want her in our hands before the sun rises.”

Dipping his head in acceptance of the orders, Ebony Maw slowly rose to stand, keeping one hand over his heart. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Do not disappoint me,” Thanos warned in a toneless voice.

Ebony Maw’s mouth tightened but he bowed in acknowledgment and said nothing. 

“Go.”

He did not need to be told any more. Swiftly, Ebony Maw turned on his heel and smiled into the dark.

It was time.

* * *

Cracking open his third Red Bull of the night, Tony gulped half of it down in one go. Because Pepper wasn’t here to throw her shoe at him for his bad manners, the billionaire finished off the drink with a loud _slurp_ and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Crushing the can with one hand, he tossed it into the recycle bin and threw both arms in the air when it landed in a clean shot. 

Tony slid back over to his workstation in a move he was positive Michael Jackson would be proud of, all the while bobbing his head to the music. 

Oddly enough, given the hours he lost last night, Tony was ahead of schedule and pleasantly surprised. All that was left was assembling the outlying plates to protect the control panel and the gauntlet would be—

A red warning sign began to flash on the screen to his left and Tony frowned. Tapping the sign, he enlarged it, eyes flitting over the words and then he went very still.

Three seconds was all it took.

During those three seconds in its case across the lab, the Soul Stone flared to life. It was as though someone had struck a match and dropped it in a pool of gasoline, it glowed so bright that it nearly _ignited_. Shielding his eyes, Tony jerked back from what felt like the glare of a miniature sun.

_Pop! Pop-pop-pop!_

The overhead lights exploded, shattering in a spray of glass. A yell ripped out of Tony’s throat as he ducked, momentarily blinded, and then as quickly as it started, the stone dimmed—like someone had switched off a light.

Panting, Tony stared wide-eyed at the stone for a moment of silence.

And then the alarms began to blare. 

Gasping, the billionaire rushed to the screen, fingers flying over the controls. 

“No-no-no, I’m smarter than you, you little soul-sucking bastard!” Tony bared his teeth as he tore through the central command center, heart pounding.

With the sudden surge of energy, the stone had somehow short circuited the StingRay scrambler, blasting its signal with enough juice to reach into deep space. Meaning anyone in the entire goddamn universe who was searching for the stone’s energy signature would be able to find them. He had less than a minute to reboot and get it back in place to keep their location secure—

“Boss,” a lilting Irish voice intoned, and Tony’s chest clenched. “We’ve got incoming.”

“ _SHIT!_ ”

* * *

Steve jerked out of sleep.

Growing up, electricity was a luxury where he was from. Not everyone could afford it and if you could, you certainly reserved its usage only for when absolutely necessary. Bucky and him though, being the idiots they were at twelve and eleven years old, had come up with the brilliant idea to test their toughness by seeing who could stick their finger in an electrical socket and not scream.

Sometimes, Steve wondered how the hell they were still alive.

For the rest of his life, Steve would never forget the feeling of that electrical current shooting through his hand, up his arm, stunning him immobile for a terrifying moment.

Waking up was like that now, like he had gone and stuck his finger in an electrical socket again. Inhaling sharply, Steve’s eyes popped open, fully alert. There was no in between for him—there hadn’t been since the serum. He was either asleep or fully cognizant.

The space in the bed beside him was empty and across the room, Bucky was already awake, crouched next to Darcy’s cot. Steve blinked a few times as it registered that she must have started thrashing in her sleep at some point. The sheets were tangled around her legs and every now and then her legs kicked and her arms twitched as her head turned side to side.

“Darce?” Bucky tried, his voice quiet. “Darcy? Can you hear me? ‘S’just a dream, honey.”

Swallowing, Steve tossed back the covers and sat up, his feet landing firmly on the ground. The movement caught Bucky’s attention at the same moment Darcy cried out and flailed.

“Buck!” Steve shouted, fear tightening his throat, eyes rounding.

It was only their serum enhanced reflexes that had Bucky flinching back in time to avoid Darcy accidentally touching him. He bent backwards, falling back on his left hand, graceful as a fucking cat.

Rushing to his side, Steve wrapped a hand around Bucky’s arm and helped him back to his feet. 

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed. He tore his gaze away from Darcy to stare at Steve and even in the dark, there was something haunted in that look. 

“Had a dream,” the dark-haired man swallowed, hard, and licked his lips. “Had a dream about her, woke up and she was like this. Can’t get her to snap out of it. I was tryin’ to be quiet so we wouldn’t wake you.”

Steve’s eyes slid back to Darcy. Her lips thinned and brows pinched in distress and even from where they stood, he could see her eyes rolling beneath the lids.

“You try,” Bucky nodded at her and Steve shifted closer, ready to jump back if she struck again in her sleep.

“Sweetheart?” 

Darcy went still and inhaled shakily. On the exhale she whimpered, sounding so fucking afraid that his heart clenched. Squatting down, he shifted on the balls of his feet until her was next to her ear and tried again.

“Darcy, can you hear me?”

What happened next was like something out of a goddamn horror film.

Jerking once more, Darcy’s eyes slit open but they weren’t the cornflower blue Steve had come to love—no, it was like staring into twin Soul Stones. Her irises blazed like two glowing suns and the whites of her eyes had turned an oily black. Darcy’s face had been wiped clean, the expression she wore so blank it was inhuman. 

She was looking right through Steve with a thousand-yard stare.

Bucky’s hand landed on his shoulder in a firm grip, fingers curling into the material of Steve’s shirt. “What the—”

And then she sat up.

This time, Bucky did pull Steve away and it was a good thing he did because Steve was too fucking shocked to move out of her way. Stumbling backwards, he fell to the ground, shoulders hitting Bucky’s shins as he stared up at Darcy, horrified.

“Is she awake?” Steve gasped out and Darcy didn’t even acknowledge him.

“Darcy!” Bucky barked out, fear lacing his tone, his hand still twisted up in Steve’s shirt. “ _Hey_ —enough of this! You told me you needed help last night and I wasn’t there but I fucking am now, so come on, snap out of it!”

Twin flames gazed back at Bucky, ignoring him entirely. Darcy rose to her feet and turned towards the door. Swearing violently, Bucky raced to beat her there. He slammed his hand over the lock seconds before she reached it.

Bucky danced out of the way as Darcy’s hand wrapped around the doorknob. She tried to turn it and when it didn’t budge, she yanked. When it still didn’t move, she tried with both hands.

“Fucking hell, woman—”

And then Darcy’s eerily calm face lifted and zeroed in on the lock. Tilting her head, she slowly lifted her hand.

“FRIDAY,” Steve ordered, scrambling to his feet, snapping back to himself. “Lock this fucking door and _do not_ open it. Darcy is—” the words caught in his throat, but he wrenched them out, hating them with every syllable, baring his teeth. “Darcy is compromised.”

The sliding click of the automatic deadbolt answered him. Then—

“ _Captain, we have a situation. I should inform you that—_ ”

Steve never heard the rest of what FRIDAY said because Bucky came storming out of the bathroom with a cup in hand. Mercilessly, he tossed the cold water right in Darcy’s blank face and then stood back, panting and watched as she didn’t even react.

Bucky ran his hands through his hair and clenched at the roots before he all but screamed—

“ _DARCY, WAKE UP!_ ”

Somehow, and Steve didn’t even pretend to understand how, but Bucky got through to her and they watched in shock and amazement as the inky blackness bled out of her eyes and the orange glow began to dim. 

Darcy’s eyes fluttered and the once raging flames became two simmering embers. But she was looking at Bucky, like she actually saw him and recognized him.

And then she opened her mouth, her voice shredded into threads.

“ _Thanos is coming_.”

* * *

Wind rushed past her, whipping her hair back from her face as she shot through the sky like a human missile. A trail of light and energy flared in her wake, blazing in the night like a shooting star. Picking up speed, she banked hard around the corner of a building, keeping her focus straight ahead.

It wasn’t anywhere near the normal pace she enjoyed flying at, but it was enough to tease the swarm of creatures on her heels into thinking they might actually stand a chance. Like dangling a piece of meat in front of a pack of starving, rabid wolves.

Except Carol Danvers was the real predator here.

Behind her, she heard the snarling and snapping of their jaws and the thundering of their feet as they pounded after her. Carol had been winding through the streets, keeping low to the ground, body straight as a pin. Just as she had suspected, they were trained to track the energy signature of an infinity stone and she just so happened to have an endless supply. 

They fell into the chase as she led them down one road to another, more joining every second.

If it weren’t for the multitude of vulnerable humans peering out through their windows as she passed by, Carol would have vaporized them all. 

She had to hand it to Thanos though, the sheer number of these creatures was overwhelming. They had been fighting for over a day now and no matter how many they seemed to pick off, there were fifty more to replace it. The creatures fought with no real skill, just an animalistic ferocity.

“ _You got an ETA for us, Danvers?_ ” Clint’s voice echoed through the comm in her ear.

Narrowing her eyes, she flexed and increased her speed slightly. “I’m less than two minutes out,” she told him. “You better be ready; this is a rowdy bunch.”

“ _Copy that._ ”

He and Romanoff were waiting with the Skrulls in a small park. It had been a tactic that was working well for them so far, Carol drawing out the monsters and bringing them right into the perfect trap.

A sharp left turn and Carol grinned, her fists curling. It was going to be a good—

She frowned.

Behind her there was no thundering of feet, no snarling or growling, just… silence.

Rising into the air, Carol spun around, her brows pulled low over her eyes and her heart stopped.

They were _gone_. 

Eyes widening, she darted back around the corner and spotted the horde of creatures a solid three hundred yards away. They were at a complete standstill in the middle of the street—like they had been turned to stone.

And then, as one, all of their heads simultaneously turned to the north. One creature in the center of the pack rose up on its hindlegs, its mottled skin gleaming in the moonlight. Its shoulders rose as it inhaled, and an otherworldly high-pitched screech ripped out of its throat slicing through the air. Guttural roars answered and the horde shot off, _away_ from her, feet and claws scraping against the ground.

“Barton… Romanoff,” Carol called softly, her words dying on her tongue as her mind raced.

“ _What’s wrong?_ ”

Her stomach dropped with a cold kind of dread as it hit her all at once.

“They got a signal on the Soul Stone,” she gasped. Panic flooded her veins. “We need to get back to the Compound. _Now_.”

* * *

A fist collided with the door in a solid _thump, thump, thump._

Thor gasped himself awake, hands flying to Jane’s narrow waist. She had been curled into the hollow shell of his body, fast asleep. At the desperate pounding, she sat bolt upright, eyes fluttering in the darkness. 

“Stay here,” the God of Thunder ordered quietly and carefully climbed over her to rush to the door.

In all of his long years, a knock in the night had never been a good omen and he couldn’t deny the prick of fear that ignited in the pit of his belly. Padding over on bare feet, Thor opened the door, squinting at the onslaught of light just on the other side before his vision cleared and he saw the bone white and wild-eyed face of Loki staring back at him.

“Brother?” Thor opened the door wider, light pouring in, his gaze roving over the raven-haired god. “What is it?”

Loki’s throat worked. “Something is wrong.”

“Is it Darcy?” Jane ducked under Thor’s arm, appearing suddenly and moving in between the two of them, her voice laced with panic.

“The gateway,” was all Loki said and Thor shook his head, not comprehending. Loki bared his teeth, his voice shaking, “We never _closed_ it. I need to reach the Compound—”

“—what is going—”

“If you wish to keep your precious Darcy alive,” Loki snapped at Jane like a poisonous viper. “I need to reach the others now!”

Thor didn’t say anything else, wasn’t able to with the way that his heart had crawled into his throat and settled at the base of it, choking the life from him. He turned on his heel without a word and left Jane and Loki where they stood, butting heads. 

“What do you mean—is something happening?! I swear on Odin’s _dead body_ that if you did something—”

Thor dug through the pockets of his trousers slung over the back of a chair while they screeched at one another, his hands trembling, lips moving in a silent prayer.

_Hail All-Father, wise warrior, far-eyed wanderer, keep Darcy in your gaze and strike down any danger as it approaches in all forms. Grant us wisdom, courage, and victory._

“Me?! _You_ created this doorway. _You_ created the device having no idea that it was accessible from both sides! You insolent fool! I used it myself to walk right into that laughably ‘secure’ place.”

Thor’s hand closed around the device Steven had given him long ago at the safehouse, back at the start of it all. One side could enable a distress signal while the other was a two-way communicator. He nearly tore out the earpiece in his haste to connect it.

“Stark?” Thor croaked out the second he turned it on and in the doorway, both Loki and Jane fell silent. “Stark are you there?”

Three heartbeats passed and Thor’s face screwed up.

Then—

“ _Thor!_ ” Stark’s voice cried on the other end, but it was scratchy and full of static, as though the connection wasn’t fully working. “ _Tha… –d you call… need you to—_ ”

Loki stomped over and snatched the communicator out of Thor’s hands, bellowing, “ _THE GATE! SOMEONE SHUT DOWN THOSE DAMNED STICKS!_ ”

Silence answered and both gods stared down at the device, panting heavily. And then Stark’s voice returned, and it was as if he hadn’t heard them at all. 

“ _We’ve got a prob—_ ”

_Click._

The line went dead.

* * *

Across the Compound, in the dark of Darcy’s room, the gravitational sticks powered on in a sudden flash of blue light. Quick and silent and no one would ever guess.

Catching his reflection in the mirror, Ebony Maw smiled at the green tinted skin and his elongated, pointed ears. Smoothing his hands over the foreign armor he wore, he tugged at the hem. 

It had been many years since he had seen a Skrull in its true form, but they weren’t really the kind of creatures one could forget. And after Thanos told him of their joining the Avengers, Ebony Maw couldn’t help himself. 

It was too perfect.

Disguised as a friend, he opened the door and slipped into the dark hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit just got real. 
> 
> The line Tony says to Steve earlier, "I’m not half as good at—at anything as I am when I’m doing it next to you. And that’s the truth," is actually something he says to him in the comics. It was fun to add that in.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/)!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As most authors say: I never intended to take that long of a break between updates and… well… that’s true here. Thanks for understanding and being patient. Between life, holidays, anxiety and some serious depression, elections, and 2020 in general, I was overwhelmed. For those still here, I’m glad you are with me <3 I’d highly suggest re-reading or skimming the second half of the last chapter as a refresher because a lot happened and it all ties in.

Thor stared down at the communicator in Loki’s hand long after it went dead. The silence echoed in his ears and a cold sense of dread rolled in the pit of his stomach; his throat tightened. On his right, Loki exhaled sharply through clenched teeth, the sound more of a hiss than anything else. 

Ever so slowly, the God of Thunder turned to his younger brother. “How did you know?” 

Emerald eyes, wild around the edges, slid up to meet Thor’s gaze. 

Loki said nothing.

“Loki,” Thor took the device from his brother’s hand, careful not to crush it, even as anger fueled by fear flared to life beneath his skin (because anger was easier and always would be). He spoke, voice low and deadly, “Do not trifle with me, brother. How did you know something was wrong?”

For a long time, Loki just stared at him, hollow and haunted, and then—

“I felt the stone stir.”

Thor frowned, but it was Jane who spoke first.

“Wait,” she stared up at the raven-haired god, “you’re connected to the Soul Stone, too?”

Loki’s mouth tightened. “Not quite. I am _aware_ of it, as I am aware of all the stones. Such power and energy, once you have tasted it, you cannot escape it,” his continued, his voice becoming very quiet as he distinctly avoided Thor’s searching gaze. “It does not let one go so easily.”

For being such a good liar, Thor thought this might be the closest thing to truth that his brother had ever said. But there was also something in the way Loki spoke that brought Thor great unease. An ache of sorrow for who his brother once was, who he could have been, what he had been turned into.

“Was it Darcy? Did she open the stone?” Jane asked, her voice like a slap across the face, both sharp and confused.

Despite the way both Loki and Jane had clashed like oil and water just moments earlier, there was no derision in the way Loki spoke to her now. Only fear.

And that, Thor thought, was worse.

“I do not believe so. I was able to tell before when she would open the stone. This was not like that,” Loki squinted as though he could see something the rest of them could not. “It is as though someone else was trying to wake it—use it.”

“ _Someone?_ ” Jane shook her head looking fierce for all that she was standing in the hallway in nothing but an oversized shirt on her small frame. “Who?”

Loki hesitated, eyes flicking to the blond god swiftly before returning to Jane. And then it struck Thor like the very lightning he wielded, a blinding flash buzzing in his veins. His stomach dropped and his mind went white with panic.

“Ebony Maw.”

Loki inhaled and nodded once, the movement sharp. He carefully lifted his gaze back to Thor. “Precisely.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Is he going after Darcy?” Jane’s voice was not quite shaking.

Thor stared hard at his brother, fear clenching his heart in a tight grip. Loki wet his lips, but he did not lower his eyes, he held Jane’s gaze and there was something almost like sympathy swimming in the depths—a thing Thor had not seen in his brother in ages.

“Her or the stone itself, though I cannot imagine Thanos knowing of a stonekeeper’s existence and being willing to let them live,” Loki admitted in a quiet voice. “He does not share power and that is exactly what your Darcy has, whether she realizes it or not. I am certain that Maw used her connection to the Soul Stone to pinpoint its location. If I was able to find a path into that place through those damned sticks, then he would be able to just as easily. And if he finds her…”

The unspoken truth slid under Thor’s skin and wrapped around his bones, settling deep down in the marrow.

If Ebony Maw found Darcy, she would die—a terrible, ugly kind of death.

Thor could not stomach it. Not after what Darcy had come to mean to him, not after she saved him from ruin in these last few months, tethering him to life itself, giving him reason to keep going. Whether the woman knew it or not, they were tied together, souls intertwined, and he could not bear losing her, _would_ _not_ bear it.

_Hail All-Father, wise warrior, far-eyed wanderer, keep Darcy in your gaze. Protect her where I cannot._

Turning away, Thor’s gaze dropped to the floor, his mind racing. There were twelve-hundred fighting Aesir, not enough to break the front lines, but enough to hopefully buy Darcy time. They needed to prepare. Decision made, the God of Thunder snapped his head up, opening his mouth to speak when he noticed the lone guard standing at the end of the narrow hallway. 

Though the guard was still as stone, the expression on his face and the way his jaw was clenched clearly said he was trying his hardest not to listen in on the conversation. 

Thor’s eyes narrowed. 

“You there,” he called out in a deep bellow, beckoning the guard with a quick twitch of his fingers. The guard didn’t seem surprised to be summoned and quickly walked towards them, spear in hand, his face grave. When he was close enough, Thor ordered in a commanding tone, “Wake Valkyrie and instruct her to ready the army and tell her to make haste. It is urgent that we depart as soon as possible.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the guard bowed his head immediately.

But when he did not leave right away, Thor flicked his eyes over the guard in irritation. “Have you something to say, soldier?”

“I…” the guard hesitated, his head still bowed. And then, slowly, he lifted his gaze and there was something like steel in his brown eyes. “I was posted on duty when the prisoner escaped. It was on my watch and I consider myself responsible for this. You have my deepest apologies for any pain I have caused you and yours and I will gladly spend my life righting this grave wrong.”

For a long time, Thor just looked at the guard. The man’s jaw was clenched, like he was holding back some great emotion, and the longer Thor stared in silence, the brighter the guard’s eyes became. 

Moved for a reason he could not name, Thor reached out and clasped the guard on his broad shoulder, pulling him close.

“Do not let this destroy you,” Thor told him, voice dropping to a quiet rumble. Sliding his blue gaze to Loki, Thor continued to speak to the guard in that same tone, all the while not taking his eyes away from his brother. “We will bear this as one, that is what makes our people so strong. Now, go.”

The guard’s dark eyes flashed to both Jane and Loki before returning to the God of Thunder. With great care, he stepped back and made a small, deferential bow, just a slight bend of the upper body; for him.

“My King.”

And then he was gone.

Staring at the path the guard had taken, something shifted in the air and Thor felt it settle on his shoulders, like a heavy winter blanket—the kind he normally threw off in the middle of night, too uncomfortable, too trapped. But this time, Thor stood there, under its weight and breathed deeply.

“Thor?”

Snapping back to himself, the God of Thunder swallowed. “We need to find a way to communicate with the Compound.” He lifted the small comm in his hand and shook his head. “This is not strong enough.”

Jane nodded slowly, brows pinching as her eyes lowered to the ground in thought. “A surge from the stone could have easily acted as an EMP, knocking out their power grid. If that’s the case, we won’t be able to make contact for a while… unless…”

A second later, her head snapped up.

“The _TeleThor_!”

* * *

The room was dark except for the light spilling in from the open bathroom door. Ice cold water gathered in the delicate hairs of her eyebrow before falling with a soft plop onto the top of her cheekbone. It slid down her face, quick as a teardrop.

Darcy swept the back of her hand across her eyes, frowning and jerking back as she realized she was soaking wet and had no idea why. She was just about to ask when Steve stepped forward, hair mussed from sleep, brows in a deep furrow, staring at her like she had lost her mind.

“What did you say?” 

The voice, though, came from her right. She whirled around, panting, her heart pounding. Bucky wore a similar expression as Steve and dangling in his hand was an empty cup.

Utterly confused, Darcy’s eyes flicked between the two of them. Blood marched in her ears, roaring like the waves of an angry sea before she rasped the words out of her sandpaper throat once more. 

“Thanos is coming.”

For a long moment, no one spoke, no one even _moved_ , then—

“Buck,” Steve called in a quiet voice, all the while his gaze stayed locked on Darcy in no small amount of horror. “Her eyes are still…”

“What?” Darcy squinted in confusion at the blond. She wet her chapped lips, voice incredulous, “Did you just hear what I said? _Thanos_ is coming. Steve, why are you just standing there looking at me like that—what’s _wrong_ with my eyes?”

Before either man could answer, Darcy spun around and rushed into the bathroom. The overhead light was harsh but she ignored it the second her gaze landed on the large mirror.

Her stomach dropped.

Like a creature from a horror film, the whites of her eyes had bled into an inky blackness and in place of the simple blue irises she was used to, twin Soul Stones stared back at her—amber and burning and alive. It was as if the stone had finally crawled under her skin and carved out its home.

 _I look possessed._

Numb. Everything seemed to rush away from her head. She stared at her reflection, feeling the blood drain away from her face. 

_I see you, little one._

That voice slithered up along her spine like the underbelly of a snake and it echoed in her mind and all at once she was back in her dream, back in that red-tinted abyss and the sea of glass. Goosebumps lifted along her skin, each delicate hair on her body stretching to the sky as she remembered the dream. In the second her finger had touched the Soul Stone, right before Bucky’s voice pulled her from that wretched place, for the briefest of moments, Darcy had seen it: Thanos sitting upon a dark stone throne. It was ancient and cruel and cold as the monster that claimed it. His right hand gloved and pulsing with power, the Infinity Stones glowing—all except for one.

The one she held. 

_Darcy._

“The stone.” Darcy breathed out and the glowing orange in her eyes simmered, like living coals, before she ripped her gaze away from the mirror. 

Steve was standing just outside the doorway, concern etched into every line of his face. But he didn’t have that shell-shocked look anymore. 

“He was there,” she gasped out, finding it hard to catch her breath or calm her sprinting heart. “I dreamed—I—I saw him. And he-he-he saw me,” Darcy stepped out of the bathroom, tilting her head back to hold the blond’s gaze, distantly aware that just behind the man, Bucky was rushing to get dressed. Desperation mixed with terror clouded Darcy’s mind as she thought of the monster sitting on his throne, on the way he turned his eye toward her. 

“Steve _, he knows who_ _I am_ ,” her voice was shaking, teeth clattering with every word. “Thanos knew my _name_ —”

The words died on her tongue. 

Outside the window, there was a great flash of light and two seconds later—

_BOOM._

Darcy saw the explosion before she heard it; it was a plume of fire, red and orange and black, exploding upwards into the pre-dawn sky in the flat space of grass where the Skrulls ship had once been. Then the sound hit and sound had never been physical before but this was and the Compound shook and Darcy shouted while Steve whirled around.

“What the hell?” yelled Bucky and Darcy shook her head to clear her ringing ears.

Stunned, Steve’s eyes widened and his mouth parted, opening to speak, but he never got the chance.

The second explosion was bigger than the first, and closer to the Compound, blasting hundreds of feet into the still smoking sky, fire and smoke and earth and trees and Darcy suddenly realized what was happening.

“He’s here,” she had in a tremulous exhale.

Steve snapped his gaze back to Darcy and it was amazing how quickly he transformed into Captain America in those few seconds. It was a seamless shift, as though he had donned the mask and stars and stripes, everything about him stringing tight; unyielding.

And there was anger there, too. 

Darcy could see it clear as day in Steve, a dangerous kind of rage, capped for far too long. His eyes flickered over her form before landing back on her face. 

“Get dressed,” he ordered harshly. “You and Bucky need to get out of here.”

She froze. 

Her eyes went wide and Darcy shook her head. “No,” she said, and it had to have been some other woman saying the words, someone braver. “I can do it now.”

“There’s no time—”

“I can open the stone,” she argued, her voice shaking. 

“Darcy, we need to keep you and the stone separate and if what you said is true and Thanos knows who you are, he’s going to come looking for—” 

“But I can do it, Steve!” She shouted and bared her teeth. “I’ve been preparing for this for too fucking long to just walk away when we need help the most!”

All around them alarms started blaring and automated steel shutters began to slowly roll over the window, as though the Compound was shielding itself from further attack. Spinning around to watch the shutters close, Steve’s jaw clenched.

“Listen to me,” he said as he turned back, his voice harsh and biting. “ _I am_ making the decision here. _I’m_ giving the order: you and Bucky are going to run.”

“But I—Steve, please just let me—”

“Just let you what? Just let Thanos _find_ you? Just let him destroy you, take you apart piece by fucking piece because you want to _sacrifice_ yourself?”

“I’m not—that’s not what I meant. I’m not going to sacrifice myself—”

Steve inhaled sharply, blue eyes flashing. “Whatever it takes,” his voice was deadly soft. “You’ve said those goddamn words over and over. What am I supposed to think that means?”

Darcy drew back as though he had slapped her. Steve’s mouth twisted before he turned away and headed toward the closet, his back straight as a board, each step full of purpose. 

She watched him go, stunned.

And then her mouth began to move, the words flying out like knives.

“You’re one to talk,” she bit out, voice half raising to a shout as Steve swiftly threw open the closet doors and pulled out his uniform. Darcy scrambled clumsily after him, half tripping. He glanced at her approach before hastily tugging off his shirt, voice muffled by the fabric.

“Get dressed, Darcy.”

Hating the way he dismissed her so easily, she planted her feet and refused. “Why? Because you plan to send me and Bucky off while you throw yourself headfirst into a war? A war we _won’t_ win unless I open that stone!”

“ _I CAN’T LOSE YOU!_ ” Steve exploded and Darcy flinched backwards. Seeing her reaction, his bare chest rising and falling rapidly, the blond blinked and quieted his voice. “Don’t you understand? I’ve lost Bucky more times than I can bear and I’ve watched you kill yourself over that stone. I am _done_ losing the people I love.” Steve’s eyes became very bright, his voice turning ragged as he looked just over her shoulder. “I can’t lose either of you.”

Tears welled in her throat and she swiftly turned her head, seeing Bucky’s quiet and solemn gaze locked on Steve.

“I put some clothes out on the bed,” Bucky informed her softly, gray eyes sliding to hers and for the life of her, Darcy couldn’t get a read on the man.

Just then, there must have been another explosion. With the windows sealed tight, there was no light from the blast, just a deep shaking of the building—like the tremors of an earthquake.

Fear rose from the pit of her belly and whatever fight had been in her deflated like air seeping out of a balloon. Nodding without a word, Darcy snatched the clothes up and rushed back into the bathroom for a small amount of privacy.

Shutting the door, her movements were jerky and angry and it wasn’t long before hot tears silently poured down her cheeks. Swallowing wetly, she tossed her pajamas on the floor and tugged on her clothes as quickly as she could.

Outside the door, she could pick up murmuring that quickly turned into raised male voices. Darcy stretched out the neck of her t-shirt as she yanked it over her body before rushing back out.

“James, _don’t_.” Steve was saying through clenched teeth and Darcy stopped in her tracks, having never heard him use that name with Bucky before. “You know your mission. I’m here with Stark, we’ll protect the stone, you protect her.”

Bucky squatted near the mini fridge, carefully removing the _Eirflower_ tonic to place it in the special cooler Bruce had given them.

“You know I will,” he ground out, closing the container cautiously before straightening, anger in every line of his body. “But I need you to promise me, too, _Steven_.”

Steve’s eyes flashed to Darcy as she stepped back into the room, fully dressed, cheeks wet. He hesitated for a split second as he buckled different straps on his suit. Then, snapping back to himself, he turned back to Bucky, voice tight.

“You should use the tunnel to get out. FRIDAY will show you.”

“I already know about it,” Bucky shoved that away and furiously stepped forward. “But are you gonna answer me?”

Steve went still as the brunette approached him and as soon as Bucky was close enough to touch, he swiftly cupped his jaw with both gloved hands and pressed a hard kiss to his lips. Bucky made a fist at his side, but tilted his head and moved his mouth against Steve’s in a frenzy of sorts.

Averting her gaze, Darcy slowly slid down to sit on a nearby chair, her throat so tight she could hardly breathe. The finality of it all hitting her like a sledgehammer to the chest.

“Go,” Steve breathed out when he pulled away. Bucky stiffened and the blond shook his head, sadness lacing his words. “Don’t make me order you.”

“You son of bitch,” Bucky huffed out and the words held no real venom. Just resignation.

Tenderly, Steve ran his thumb over the other man’s jaw. “I’m yours until the end of the line,” he vowed quietly, and Bucky’s eyes slid shut, his head dropping even as Steve held him. Sliding his hand around to the back of his neck, Steve pulled Bucky into a hug. 

When they separated, Bucky look utterly wrecked.

“Protect her,” Steve was saying and the other man turned his face away from both of them, but he nodded, promising. 

Bucky exhaled explosively, lifting his face to the ceiling, keeping his back to them. His shoulders rolled. Steve watched him for a long second and then turned to her; his eyes were very bright.

“Darcy.”

A soft sob climbed out of her throat at the way he said her name and at the sound of it and the sight of fresh tears, Steve walked over and knelt before her. He lifted a hand to touch her and then stopped himself and drew back, letting it hang uselessly at his side.

He cleared his throat carefully. “I need you to listen to whatever Bucky says—”

“—don’t do this, please don’t do this—”

“—stay with him, okay?”

Darcy stared at the man she loved, the man she was supposed to just _walk away from_ and leave behind as the world around them was literally burning to the ground, and she broke. She begged, choking on the word, “ _Please_ —”

“I love you.”

Steve had said the words to her before, but it stunned her into silence now, the heart bleeding through each syllable. Brows pinching, he inhaled, his heart and soul and everything he was and ever would be in his eyes as they held her gaze with all the gentleness in the world. 

“My mother once told me that the world moves for love,” Steve said, his voice very thick, “that it kneels before it in awe.”

Darcy did not miss the significance of Steve kneeling before her now. And she had never wanted anything more in this world than to be able to reach out and touch him and the fact that she couldn’t cracked something deep inside of her. 

She screwed her eyes shut, face crumpling with tears that wracked her whole body—wrenching sobs that echoed around the room. “I love you, too,” she told him her voice breaking, breath hitching in her throat. “I’m sorry, I’m _so sorry_ about the spell. I just want to touch you and I can’t and oh, _god_ , I’m so sorry, Steve. I don’t want it to end like this.”

“I love you,” Steve assured her, his voice both soft and firm all at once. His eyes were glistening. “Sweetheart, it’s not going to en—”

“ _Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark requests your presence immediately in the hangar._ ” FRIDAY’s voice cut in and all occupants of the room visibly stiffened, lifting their faces to the ceiling.“ _He also suggests that Sergeant Barnes and Miss Lewis vacate the premises immediately. The car Sergeant Barnes requested is waiting on the east side of the Compound at the entrance of the tunnel._ ”

Sucking in a deep breath, Steve rose to his feet. Near the bed, Bucky had pulled himself together, his face now stoic, both duffle bags slung over his shoulder, the portable cooler in his right hand.

Darcy clumsily scrambled to her feet and moved to Bucky’s side.

Steve glanced between the two of them, like they were his whole goddamn world, and nodded. “I love you both. Everything is going to be oka—”

_BOOM._

This time, the ceiling splintered like fine china, dust and debris raining down on them. Darcy covered her head, ducking down, a shriek ripping from her throat.

“ _GO!_ ” Steve shouted, rushing to the door and throwing it open with enough force to tear it off its hinges. With one last look at them, the blond ripped himself away and ran into the hallway, sprinting towards the hangar.

* * *

“Give me a reading on this, FRIDAY, what are we looking at?”

Tony stepped into his suit, cool, sleek metal encasing him in seconds like a second skin, a strange sort of calmness settling over him. Instantly the mask snapped shut over his face and then illuminated, glowing with statistics and coordinates, which the billionaire sped through in one glance.

“ _I detect five ships less than a mile away and closing in fast,_ ” the A.I. answered in her lilting accent and if Tony didn’t know any better, he’d say she sounded genuinely worried.

Reading the constant stream of information FRIDAY was sending him, Tony squinted at it. “How much time—”

“ _Boss,_ ” FRIDAY interrupted and Tony frowned. “ _I picked up something else._ ”

A prick of fear struck Tony right in the center of his chest, sharp and painful. He shook his head. “What?”

FRIDAY paused, then—

“ _An intruder._ ”

Tony blanched. “A _what?_ ”

“ _Inside the Compound. They are in the southwest wing._ ”

* * *

A deep blood-red poured out from the emergency lights, illuminating the hallway and reminding Darcy all too much of the Soul Stone. Piercing sirens continued to rip through the air like the blade of a wicked knife. Every now and then, the entire place trembled from the explosions causing her to startle and jump.

She was shaking, shaking violently, and cold nausea was climbing up her body. This was happening to someone else, it had to be. She would close her eyes and when she opened them, she would be at home, surrounded by those she loved.

This couldn’t be real.

“No,” Darcy said, her voice weak and trembling and it must have been loud enough for Bucky to catch it over the blaring sirens. He glanced down at her and there was a hurricane behind those eyes.

“This way,” he instructed, pointing to the right before hoisting both duffle bags further up his shoulder. “Stay close to me.”

Her response to follow him as he turned and walked swiftly away was delayed, as though her mind couldn’t quite process everything that was happening, but after a few seconds, Darcy scrambled to follow after him, tripping over her feet. She couldn’t shake the similarity of the hallway to the Soul Stone and it was messing with her head, making everything spin. Panting, Darcy squeezed her eyes shut and tried to keep moving, focusing on the air rushing in through her mouth and back out or the drops of sweat rolling down between her shoulder blades.

And then she felt it—the tug.

It came from behind, gentle at first, as though it were a simple nudge telling her she was going in the wrong direction. Her steps slowed and Darcy’s eyes slid open, her vision hazy. And then it _struck_.

Sinking in deep and yanking, the need to follow the pull hooked mercilessly inside of her and clawed at her with every bit of its power. Bucky was still walking, unaware that she was falling behind and she didn’t even care, didn’t even _notice_. Not when it felt like she had been hit with the physical force of a harpoon, right in the center of her chest.

 _Darcy,_ it called in that singing voice she both craved and feared, _come to me._

Breath punched out of her lungs with a strangled, pained grunt and the sound caught the dark-haired man’s attention. He stopped and turned, worry etched into the lines of his face. Darcy’s mouth parted as she tried to gasp for air, her eyes flew to Bucky, wide and so very afraid. Her ears filled with cotton, the sirens dimming, like she had been pulled under a cold, cruel ocean as the world fell away. And then slowly, as if someone or _something_ else was in complete control of her body, Darcy turned her back to Bucky, towards the path leading to the labs—leading to the Soul Stone.

_Come, little one._

She took a halting kind of step towards the pull and urging of the stone.

“Darcy what are you— _hey!_ ” Bucky’s panicked face suddenly appeared in front of her, his eyes wild. 

Her eyelids had fallen to half-mast, lips parting as a voice that was wholly not her own left her mouth. “The stone is that way.”

“No,” Bucky’s lips curled back, throwing his arms out in front of her to try and block her way without touching her. “No, we’re not doing that shit, you heard Steve.”

Blinking slowly at the mention of Steve, Darcy felt a small part of herself return, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough because she _wanted_ this, she _wanted_ to go to the stone. 

“It won’t take long.”

“I said no,” Bucky shook his head, his eyes flicking between both of hers. “This isn’t the time.”

She swayed on her feet, staring up at him. Needles ran along her skin and the longer she just stood there, ignoring its call, the more it physically hurt—like she was being turned inside out. 

_Darcy_ , it sang.

A tear slipped down her cheek and she just shook her head, words unable to make it past her clenched teeth as her skin started to _burn_. 

_DARCY._

Her body jerked forward with a strangled cry as the stone pulled with all its might. Out of instinct, Bucky reached out and took hold of her arm, his left hand curling around it—the power of vibranium challenging the power of an Infinity Stone and neither one wanted to let go.

“ _Fight_ it, Darce,” Bucky growled, his eyes not leaving hers. His voice was both frantic and hard and he shook her, his grip tight around her arm. “Fight it, you’re stronger than this and I need you to fucking fight like your life depends on it—fight like _Steve’s_ life depends on it.”

Like a rubber band snapping after being stretched too far, the tugging and pulling from the stone went utterly slack and Darcy’s knees nearly gave out, collapsing under the relief. She was trembling terribly, a sheen of sweat coating her skin, and Bucky’s words were ringing in her ears. 

Steve’s life. Fight for Steve’s life.

 _Steve_.

Something in Darcy’s soul wrenched, something seemed to crack and break—

Hunched over, awareness came suddenly and it hit her then that the only reason she was still on her feet was the impenetrable metal hand holding onto her arm, keeping her steady.

“Bucky!” The name was strangled as it tore from Darcy’s throat and she lurched backwards instinctively, but Bucky’s hand was a vice on her and it held tight. Her eyes flew to his hand in shocked terror and then back to his face.

Uncomprehending for a split second, Bucky’s brows furrowed and then he glanced down and gray eyes widened as he released her like she was a hot coal.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hissed, holding his left arm out in front of him, his face pale. Darcy stared at him and her eyes were near perfect circles in her bone white face. They waited in terrified silence and then Bucky shook his head, confused, pulse jumping in his throat. “Why is nothing happening?”

Darcy stared down at his hand, gleaming silver reflecting the red emergency lights.

Gleaming silver.

_Metal._

_“There is a spell. Much like a shield, once cast it would make it so that anyone, any flesh, that touches you, friend or foe, will die.”_

Exhaling as Loki’s words came back to her, Darcy’s eyes lifted to Bucky’s. “Flesh,” she whispered, the word nothing more than a breath in the back of her throat. Then, louder—“Loki said _flesh_.”

“What?”

“The spell only works on flesh!” Darcy explained quickly, relief flooding her veins as Bucky continued to remain whole and unharmed. She pointed at his left arm, “That’s not…”

She couldn’t quite finish and Bucky went very still. And then he swallowed carefully, his open left hand curling into a fist, the metal plates shifting with each infinitesimal move. 

“I know what it’s not,” he told her, his voice oddly clipped. Shaking himself, Bucky’s eyes flashed to hers and he uncurled his fist, offering the same hand to her. “C’mon, we need to go.”

Darcy stupidly just looked at him, hesitating.

“I swear to God, Jesus Christ, holy Mother Mary, and Joseph,” Bucky ground out, his temper flaring, eyes boring into hers. “I will drag you out of this place if I have to. Now _take my hand_ , Darcy.”

She looked up at him, still not wholly trusting that it was safe after so long without. The word left her tongue before she could catch it. “Why?”

A beat of silence.

“Because I don’t trust you not to run on me and go for the stone right now,” Bucky told her simply. The fingers of his left hand twitched between them and Bucky’s tone left no room for argument. “Take my hand, Darcy.”

Sucking in a deep breath, still deeply afraid, she did just that. 

Instantly, metal fingers curled around her own as it shook and her eyes darted to his. Bucky merely nodded down at her, mouth tight, and then something moved just over his shoulder.

Frowning, her gaze slid to the movement—no… to the… _Skrull?_

Slowly, her brows furrowed as she stared down the hallway to where the creature stood, blocking the exit, eyes locked on both of them.

On _her_.

Dressed in armor, the Skrull was so utterly still and for reasons Darcy couldn’t explain, something about the sight of it set her on edge. Maybe it was the way its flat reptilian eyes slid to her with all the precision of a predator.

Or maybe it was the fact that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that all the Skrulls had left the Compound with Carol days ago.

As if he read her suspicion, the Skrull tilted its head in amusement. And then it lifted the blaster in its hand and aimed at Bucky’s back.

It all happened in the span of a few seconds. 

The Skrull took aim and Darcy’s breath hitched in her throat, eyes bulging in horror, alerting Bucky to danger. With a sharp inhale, he shoved Darcy behind him, whipping around and pulling a gun from his waist in the same second.

Both Bucky and the Skrull fired.

There was a crack and a chunk of the wall broke off and Darcy realized it was inches above her head and she screamed. She screamed unintentionally—out of instinct and fear and the fact that Bucky didn’t fire just once. He shot off a succession of rounds—

_Pop! Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!_

Arm outstretched, he walked steadily toward the Skrull, body turned sideways, his face grim. 

And not a single bullet hit the Skrull.

Calmly, almost bored, the creature lifted one hand, and Darcy watched in horror as each bullet Bucky fired stopped in mid-air—each bullet that would have been a kill shot.

She saw the moment Bucky realized what happened, the way he halted, back tensed, the surprise on his face. Keeping his eyes on the creature, Bucky turned his head slightly, every muscle alert. Darcy drew in a deep breath, unable to tear her gaze away from the creature. 

“Darcy,” Bucky murmured slowly and softly, like winter’s first snow, “ _run_.”

And then the Skrull smiled.

His green lips thinned and peeled back, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. Hesitating, Darcy’s eyes flicked between Bucky and the Skrull as she shakily rose to her feet, heart pounding. There was no time for fear, but it filled her anyway, she turned and scanned the hallway behind them seeing it empty—

Her heart stopped.

For someone who abhorred war and violence, she was becoming good at recognizing the sounds. The high-pitched mechanical whine was the only warning a split second before there was an explosion of light. Whirling back around, hair flying about her shoulders like a dark flag, Darcy gasped to see scorch marks and smoke rising from the place the Skrull had once stood.

In front of her, Bucky looked just as shocked, in fact, he looked downright flabbergasted the second that fucking _Iron Man_ came appeared around the corner, his hand still raised, white light glowing from his raised repulsor.

The red and gold metal head turned their way and the glowing white of Tony’s eyes was never a more welcome sight.

“You good?” Tony called out, his voice slightly mechanical as it filtered through his mask.

Darcy’s mouth split into a wide smile even as her blood still buzzed beneath her skin with adrenaline. Her heart pounded in her chest, to the point that it was almost painful, and she closed her eyes, gasping and swallowing heavily and turning her face to the ceiling to try to calm down.

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice sounded odd and strained. “Thanks.”

Mechanical whirs and the clunking footsteps of Tony’s suit echoed down the hallway, his voice growing louder as he approached them. 

“Don’t mention it,” the billionaire said somewhat stiffly. 

Once her breath was under control, Darcy opened her eyes again and wobbly stepped towards the two men who were awkwardly staring-not-staring at each other. She didn’t have time to deal with whatever was going on between the two of them, and frankly, at this moment she didn’t give a damn.

Grinning madly, Darcy looked up at Tony, unshed tears in her eyes (a sincere mixture of residual terror and relief). 

The Iron Man mask stared blankly back at her and then Tony lifted his hand and pressed a button near the jaw, causing the mask to slide open with a quiet hiss.

“FRIDAY alerted me to an intruder—” Tony was saying and then dark eyes connected with hers and he stopped mid-sentence. When he spoke next, his tone was almost soft. “You okay, kid?”

Blinking, she just stared up at Tony, not understanding. 

Tony motioned to her eyes, “What happened?”

Dizzy, Darcy’s mind grasped for some kind of an explanation, but she kept coming up blank. She even opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Thankfully, Bucky answered for her.

“It’s the stone,” he explained and Tony’s gaze flashed to him before flicking back to Darcy and nodding slowly, worriedly.

“You two need to get out of here.”

“That’s the plan,” Bucky deadpanned, bending down to pick up the duffle bags and cooler once more. Tony watched him with a certain kind of guardedness. When Bucky straightened, the billionaire held up a hand.

“Before you go,” Tony began, hesitating slightly, staring hard at Bucky. After a moment, he seemed to make up his mind. “I’ve programmed an address into the navigation system on the car you’ll be taking. Follow the directions.”

Bucky stiffened, “Where will it take us?”

Tony just looked at him for a long time, then—

“To Steve’s shield. I know he has the Wakandan model right now, but I’ve got a feeling he might need it before all of this is over.”

* * *

Baring his teeth, Ebony Maw’s disguise bled out as he limped through the red-tinted corridors, coughing out the putrid smoke from his lungs. No longer able to hold the Skrull’s form, he shifted back into his own skin with a groan. His back was hunched, arm curled around his middle as his hand pressed into the gaping wound the Man of Iron had so kindly handed him.

He remembered that _particular_ human from the first day they arrived on earth; even then, the Man of Iron was a thorn in his side. If he didn’t have _plans_ for the stone-keeper, the welp of a pitiful being that she was cowering behind another in fear, Ebony Maw would have enjoyed turning the chattering monkey inside out. 

Waving his blood-soaked hand, he easily flung open a door leading out of this stinking wasteland into the open air. But there was no escape from the smoke outside of the building either, fires burned in the trees and along the grounds, and he knew that his Lord was merely toying with the Avengers, playing with his food so-to-speak, shooting measly weapons at their fortress until he could draw them out of hiding.

If Thanos really wanted to destroy the Avengers, all he had to do was simply snap his fingers.

_Except he is missing a stone._

Grimacing at that thought, Ebony Maw closed his eyes and focused on his mission, finding the stonekeeper.

Magic was a funny thing. He had spent enough nights entering the stonekeeper’s dreams and mind that he knew the fingerprint of magic the stone had left behind on her. Which made sending out a flare searching for that unique fingerprint now all too easy. The second he picked up on her location, his eyes snapped open and he turned towards the East. 

Ebony Maw grinned and it was a terrible thing.

* * *

Arms pumping as he ran, breath heaving in and out of his lungs, Steve had almost made it to the hangar when FRIDAY redirected him to the labs. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he changed his path quickly and sprinted down the widening hallways until they shifted and changed to half glass and a clinical sterilized smell filled his nose. Glancing inside the lab as he jogged to the door, he counted three occupants waiting for him and not one of them was who he was looking for.

Panting, Steve hurried inside, eyes sweeping over the group, taking in the plaid pajama pants and soft looking t-shirt Bruce was wearing. The scientist’s hair was flat on one side of his head and there were deep lines in his skin from where he had been clearly sleeping.

“Where’s Tony?” Steve directed the question to Bruce.

The scientist sputtered, “I—I don’t know, I asked FRIDAY and she told me she alerted him to an intruder in the southwest wing—”

Steve started, breath locking in his throat, his stomach dropping to his feet. 

“Southwest?” he clarified, the word barely making it out of his mouth, and without waiting for confirmation, without thinking about it, without considering anything else, he turned and ran for the door. Voices shouted, cracking through the air as he started down the hallway, his heart pounding.

“Steve, wait!” 

Bruce’s voice reached him and he ignored it, running in a blind fear, blood rushing in his ears. He thought of nothing other than getting to Bucky and Darcy before it was too late—

“ _Captain Rogers, you must listen—_ ”

FRIDAY’s voice echoed from above as he made it to the end of the hallway. Skidding to a stop, his feet slid across the tiled floor until he hit the wall with a solid _thud_. 

“— _Mr. Stark has taken care of the intruder_ ,” the AI continued and Steve’s brows pinched into a deep line.

“Bucky and Darcy?”

There was a pause and Steve held his breath. Then—

“ _There was an altercation but no injuries to them. Currently they are two minutes out from the vehicle in the East tunnel_.”

An unintentional cry of relief jumped out of his chest and Steve collapsed back against the wall, beads of sweat slipping down his forehead and temples. He exhaled explosively, neck aching from the tension. Closing his eyes, he heard Bruce shuffle down the hall in his house slippers.

“They got out?” The scientist’s quiet voice rose over Steve’s gasping breaths.

Keeping his eyes closed, the blond sighed out in a voice of gravel, “They will.”

Other footsteps reached Steve’s ears and he slit his eyes open to see a frantic looking Peter padding their way in his bare feet, Groot close on his heels. The teen’s eyes were wide as saucers, his hair sticking out in all directions, as if he had been electrocuted. Groot’s thin wooden mouth was in a firm line, turning down slightly at the edges in an odd show of seriousness and it was the first time that Steve had seen the sentient tree without a smile or a teenage scowl.

And all three of them were staring at Steve expectantly.

Sucking in a deep breath, he wiped off his sweaty brow with his forearm and pushed off the wall with his shoulders. Looking them each in the eye, Steve began, “Things might change when Tony gets back, but for now, here’s the plan: Banner and Groot you will stay behind in the labs to guard the stone as a final defense. Bruce, I assume Tony has given you access to the Hulk Crusher?”

Bruce nodded silently, dark eyes laced with worry. Steve held his gaze for a solid three seconds.

“Good. You’ll be a last resort,” he swallowed and then opened his mouth to speak. “Now—”

“What about me?” Peter cut in, his young face earnest. “What do I do?”

For a long time, Steve just looked at the teen and then he said simply: “Suit up, Queens.”

Peter’s reaction was instantaneous. 

His hands flailed in the air, face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “ _Yes!_ I promise I won’t let you down,” the words flew out of his mouth at record speed but when he saw the look on Steve’s face, Peter cleared his throat and deepened his voice slightly. “I mean, of course… sir. _Captain_.”

It took everything in Steve’s power not to pinch the bridge of his nose and to the side, Bruce hid an amused smile behind a need to ‘scratch at his jaw’. The kid’s enthusiasm was catching and Steve finally allowed himself to grin.

A little.

“I remember what it was like fighting you,” Steve told the teen and Peter’s eyes widened, not doubt remembering the moment he caught his old shield. Watching the kid, Steve held his gaze and instructed him, “I want you to fight like that—but a lot meaner.”

Peter blanched and then blinked rapidly. “Meaner, sir?”

“You’re strong and fast and smart. Don’t hold back,” Steve told him and he watched as Peter’s expression became quiet.

Inhaling, the teen’s chest expanded, his lips thinned as he pressed them together and nodded. Next to Peter, Groot’s leaves trembled as he shifted from foot to foot.

Turning to the teenage tree now, Steve looked him over once. “Tony told me that you helped hold an Infinity Stone once.”

“I am Groot!”

“Then you have the most experience out of all of us. Stay with the Soul Stone and if worse comes to worse, find a way to hide it.”

“ _I_ …” Groot began and then paused for a long time and Steve swore that the tree grew half an inch before his eyes. More vines slid through his arms and legs, thickening his limbs with strength. “… am Groot.”

There was a beat of silence as they all stared at Groot, unsure. Then—

“It’s settled,” Steve spoke up. “Queens, you follow my lead. Banner, if we call you in, come fast. Groot…” Steve started and then stopped, a thought popping into his head and it sounded dangerously like Darcy. He pointed at Groot, lifting both brows, “Protect the stone like it’s a goddamn Skittle and Thanos wants to steal it.”

At the mention of the sugary rainbow candy, Groot’s pupils dilated until there was just a paper-thin ring of brown around the edges. Steve stepped forward and grabbed the tree by the shoulder, dragging him over the window. He pointed to the Soul Stone deep in the lab, making sure that the teenage tree followed along, his words sharp.

“Don’t let Thanos steal that Skittle.”

There was a long moment of silence and then slowly, oh so slowly, Groot’s eyes narrowed into what could only be a grave promise of violence for whosoever dared to come near the Soul Stone. And as if the thing sensed a kindred spirit in the tree, the Soul Stone flared to life, reflecting back in his dark eyes like twin flames of hell.

“I… Am… Groot.”

For the first time, Steve felt a flicker of nervousness as he took in the expression on Groot’s face and he wondered, briefly, what he might have just unleashed.

All because of some fucking Skittles.

Shaking his head, Steve released Groot and stepped back, glancing at the other two. Bruce’s eyebrows were up near his hairline and Peter’s head was tilted to the side, his face utterly confused. With a flush of embarrassment, Steve rolled his shoulders and ordered everyone:

“Not a word of this to Tony.”

* * *

The walk to the car had been utterly silent.

After Tony left, Bucky had reloaded his gun with a frightening kind of expertise before leading them to the lower levels of a cavernous garage where they met the mouth of the East tunnel. It was the first time that Darcy had seen Bucky’s mask. She knew what Steve was like when he had to be Captain America, but she had never met the Winter Soldier before. There was a certain lethalness to him that was wholly different from Steve. But despite what she knew about the persona, despite the fact that Bucky’s face had at some point become frighteningly blank and the general murder vibe he all but _exuded_ , his eyes were sharp and vigilant and the metal hand that was wrapped around her own was gentle.

The car waiting for them was small and sleek and black and clearly screamed ‘money’. Bucky took one look at it and rolled his eyes. It was the first crack in his mask and Darcy took that as a good sign of sorts.

The trunk opened on its own as they approached but Bucky ushered Darcy to the passenger door first.

“Buckle up and keep your head down,” he instructed in a quiet voice as she climbed inside. He waited until she was settled with the cooler at her feet before shutting the door with a muted _thunk_. 

Silence fell and her ears rang. 

Darcy shifted in her seat, the leather squeaking slightly. The car rocked as Bucky dumped the duffle bags in the trunk and then he was jogging around to the driver’s side. She glanced over when the door opened and he slid in smoothly. The dashboard had more complicated buttons than she had ever seen in her life, but Bucky seemed to have no problem navigating them as he started up the car with ease. 

In seconds, they were heading into the dark mouth of the tunnel. Darcy hadn’t even had time to gape at the expanse of the Compound. It was amazing, really. She had been staying there for weeks now and had very little clue as to the layout of the place and given the sheer size of this garage and a fucking _escape_ _tunnel_ , she wondered what else she had missed.

“I didn’t even know this was here,” Darcy found herself saying.

The engine gave off a low hum as Bucky accelerated and bright rings of lights illuminating the path out flashed by, catching a glare on the windshield. The bulk of Bucky’s shoulders was visible through his jacket as he steered and he kept his gaze firmly ahead on the road, eyes sweeping back and forth. 

After a long moment, he responded. “I found it on my second day here.” Darcy’s eyes snapped to his and her brows furrowed. Though he kept his eyes on the road, Bucky shifted slightly, distinctly uncomfortable. A breath later, he mumbled out, “I like to know the areas I’m staying in.”

A beat of silence.

“That’s smart,” Darcy told him, watching the dark-haired man carefully, “to be prepared like that.” There was a certain guardedness to him at the moment. It was in every line of his body and Darcy, for whatever reason, wanted to ease him. 

“Some people call it paranoid.” Bucky slid a glance her way. 

“I’m sure they do.” Darcy nodded and then shrugged softly. “I call it survival.”

Bucky didn’t respond.

The road began to incline as they came to the end of the tunnel and ahead, Darcy could see the sky. It was streaked with varying shades of pinks and reds and oranges, like they had been squeezed from a paint tube and smeared across the horizon. Coming out of the tunnel, Bucky took a sharp left onto a dirt road and Darcy glanced around, trying to get her bearings but had no idea as to where they were.

Her only clue was the way that Bucky’s eyes kept flicking up to the rearview mirror. His metal hand tightened around the steering wheel until it was dented, leaving behind the outline of his fingers.

Unbuckling, Darcy grabbed the back of her seat and used it to twist around. 

“Darce, don’t—” Bucky warned but it was too late.

In the distance, slowly shrinking as Bucky sped away, the forest surrounding the Compound was burning. A portion of the building had crumbled into a pile of rock and glass and thick, black smoke churned up in the sky. There was a moment that she swore she saw the glint of the rising sun catch on a small red and gold metal object shooting upwards into the sky.

 _Tony_.

She watched him disappear into the clouds and as the fire raged on, there was a drowning kind of horror as all the blood drained out of her face.

_We sentenced Steve to death._

“Oh, my god,” Darcy breathed.

* * *

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

The condescension in that question set Jane’s teeth on edge. She was currently elbow deep in wires on a grounded alien space craft trying to decide if the red and green wires were supposed to touch or if it was the green and blue wires.

Pausing with a handful of frayed wires in her right hand, she scoffed, deeply offended, “Yes, I know what I’m doing.”

A second later—

“It does not appear so.” 

Loki was hovering over her shoulder, emerald eyes observing but not offering much help outside of his _delightful_ commentary. 

“That’s because you don’t understand how to manipulate the radio frequency of the electromagnetic spectrum emitted by astronomical objects to send and receive messages.”

Silence met her and Jane grinned in triumph. Sitting back on her heels while pulling the wires out further with her, she glanced up at the raven-haired god and smirked. He stared down his nose at her with a predatory stillness and his eyes flared with an otherworldly green. In Jane’s peripheral, Thor almost lazily stepped forward—a reminder, and just like that, whatever had come over Loki was snuffed out. 

With a cluck of his tongue and a look of derision thrown her way, Loki sneered and retreated into another part of the ship. Jane watched him go before turning to Thor and shrugging. 

“Has he always been this temperamental?” She asked lightly and Thor lifted a single brow.

“This is Loki we are speaking about.”

Jane pursed her lips, “Good point.”

“You hold your own against him,” Thor told her and he sounded oddly proud, “which cannot be said for many.”

“Mm.” Twisting the green and blue wires together, Jane’s brows pinched in concentration. Once they were secure, whiskey eyes flew to the control panel and she crawled back underneath on her hands and knees. Finding the correct slot, Jane brought the wires up to it and shoved them in. 

Hastily she scooted back out and then scrambled to her feet, eyes bright and locked on the control panel… which had yet to show a sign of life.

Narrowing her eyes, Jane slipped off her shoe and tried an age-old trick that had served her well for many years.

_WHACK. WHACK. WHACK._

It may be rudimentary, but she often felt that hitting the equipment with something or on something helped not only with its functionality but also with a release of emotion for her. Thor, however, seemed to think differently.

“Jane,” he lunged forward, wincing, “maybe you should not—”

 _WHACK-WHACK_. 

Lights glitched on the control panel with each slap of her shoe, giving her hope and a steely determination. “Just a little…” she ground out, lips curling back from her teeth, “ _more_ …” 

_WHACK!_

Humming, the lights illuminated on the control panel as it came to life and Jane squealed, dropping her shoe and clapping. With a wide smile, she turned to Thor, light dancing in her eyes. He stepped forward, a little distressed, his hand falling to her waist as he bent and pressed a swift kiss to the top of her head.

“Well done, Jane,” he grimaced despite his words. “What’s next?”

Frowning, Jane thought quickly and then her eyes snapped back to Thor. “Coordinates,” she said firmly. “I need coordinates for the Compound and then we should be good. I’ve reworked the microphone and speaker to connect with the high-frequency… it won’t be the clearest connection, but it’s better than nothing.”

There was a quiet _tap, tap, tap_ coming from a pair of boots as Loki slowly re-entered the room. His hands were clasped behind his back and he was eyeing the control panel of the ship carefully.

Emerald eyes flashed to Jane and one dark brow lifted delicately, “I believe I may be of assistance.”

* * *

“Ground rules.”

Darcy jumped at the word, whipping her head to Bucky. It had come suddenly after twenty minutes or so of silence. He was blurry in her vision and she furiously scrubbed at her eyes, clearing away the tears that refused to stop flowing. 

“What?” She croaked out.

Bucky repeated himself, “We need some ground rules.”

And all at once Darcy was in another car with another man going on another mission that she was utterly unqualified for. Her mind flashed back to that time with Steve, the harshness in him, sharp and cutting and so angry, and she looked to Bucky now, gobsmacked.

“You sound just like Steve. He… he said the same thing to me once.”

The man went still, the corners of his mouth tightening. “Stupid punk is always copying me,” Bucky said and if Darcy listened close enough, she could hear the catch in Bucky’s throat. “’M’not Steve though.”

Her chin wobbled and she sucked in a wet breath.

“I know.”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, his voice turning all business. “Then you know how it works: I say run, you don’t hesitate like you did back in that hallway. Don’t even think twice, just _do it_.”

Darcy winced, remembering how the fear had paralyzed her, but she nodded, whispering, “Okay.”

“I say hide, you hide until I come find you and if I don’t, then you wait until nightfall and get to a different place.”

“If you say duck, I duck,” Darcy closed her eyes, leaning deep into her seat, hearing the words in Steve’s voice in her head as he once gave her the exact same instructions. “No questions asked.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“He really did copy my shit,” Bucky grumbled half fond and half annoyed. “Fuckin’ punk.”

For some reason, his annoyance at Steve brought a near laugh out of Darcy. It punched out of her chest, more of a puff of empty air than anything else, but it was a welcome relief from the goddamn tears. 

“Yeah,” she huffed out, almost smiling, “he did.”

They slowed as they reached a main road and the sound of the blinker echoed in the car. Bucky didn’t let the car come to a full stop before he turned right and pulled out off the dirt road onto asphalt.

Exhaustion crawled up Darcy’s legs, like water rising up her body, and she sighed, her eyes sliding shut of their own accord. Hot tracks of tears slipped down the already wet path on her cheeks and Darcy didn’t even bother to wipe them away. 

“How you feelin’, Darce?”

Keeping her eyes shut, she answered in a hollow tone, “Miserable. Exhausted. Terrified.”

He didn’t respond right away, and she didn’t bother to look at his expression. Opening her eyes to would require energy that Darcy just didn’t have. 

“I know, but I meant the stone, honey,” Bucky clarified after a long pause, gentleness bleeding through his voice.

Slitting her eyes open, she mustered up the strength to flip down the passenger mirror, unsurprised to see that her eyes were still a terrifying black and orange. If it were any other time, she would be horrified, but at the moment, Darcy just sighed and closed her eyes again.

“Will they ever change back?” She mumbled out and she didn’t see Bucky look at her, but she could feel his appraisal.

“Try the tonic,” he suggested. “The one Thor gave you, it’s supposed to help, right? Sun is up, time for your morning dose anyway.”

Darcy made a non-committal sound in the back of her throat, aware of the cooler between her feet. But the thought of the Eirflower tonic and the energy it gave her (plus, the damn good taste) was enough of a motivation to force herself to bend down and open the cooler.

It hissed, freezing gossamer clouds wafting upwards as she reached in and snagged a single cylinder aware of Bucky’s eyes flicking between her movements and the road. The metal was so cold that it burned the skin on her fingertips, the sudden change in temperature instantly making Darcy more alert.

She hissed and snapped the cooler shut before uncapping the small container and knocking it back without another thought.

Like a triple shot of espresso injected right into her veins, the _Eirflower_ tonic’s effect was instantaneous. She swallowed the last of it, honey and lavender flowing down her throat to a warm pool in the pit of her belly and moaned in relief.

A deep chuckle came from her left and Darcy was fully aware of why Bucky found her reaction to the _Eirflower_ tonic amusing.

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes, feeling much more awake than she had even in the moments that terror and adrenaline had pumped through her body. “If you tasted this shit, you’d moan, too.”

From the sly look on his face, she knew that Bucky had a response on the tip of his tongue, but he held back. Darcy openly watched him for a long minute before turning back to the road. She fiddled with the empty cylinder, her mind inevitably replaying the last few moments with Steve, the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice.

God, she loved that man—and she wasn’t the only one.

Glancing at Bucky once more, Darcy felt a swell of emotion rise up in her chest and before she could stop herself, she murmured quietly, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Bucky’s eyes flicked her way, a single brow peaked curiously.

Struggling to find the words, she shrugged, a single shoulder lifting to her ear and when she spoke, her voice was very small. “For doing this. I know you’d probably rather be back there fighting alongside Steve.”

A beat of silence.

“I hate fighting,” there was truth in those three words, a hard, angular kind of truth that couldn’t be ignored. Silence stretched between them except for the quiet hum of the engine, and then Bucky drew in a breath, “It’s one of the only things I’m good at though. But I still hate it and I wouldn’t _choose_ it. I’d rather have Steve here with us,” the dark-haired man admitted, his brows raising slightly and then as though he thought about that possibility, something bitter flit across his face. “He’d never run from a fight though, it’s not in him. He’s…”

Bucky trailed off, his right hand gesturing wordlessly and Darcy sat back in her seat.

“Fireborn.”

“What?” 

Darcy frowned and shook her head, wracking her brain to remember. When she spoke, her voice was far off, drifting at sea, “It’s something Thor once said about Steve. That on Asgard they call people like ‘Fireborn’, meaning that for those who are born in fire, smoke will never do. It’s like… he has to fight—as if he thinks that’s all that he is or all that he’s worth: a fight.”

“He gets a rush from it,” Bucky agreed in an odd sounding voice, “even when he was small. The serum didn’t change that part of him, it… magnified it, I think. Now that he can heal faster… I swear, sometimes he _likes_ it—getting hurt.” The man trailed off unhappily tapping his fingers in three quick successions against the already dented steering wheel. Bucky cast his gaze out the window, the words flung off his tongue and splattered between them, “Steve’s a reckless son of a bitch.”

In her seat, Darcy had gone very still. 

Her blood ran cold. “Bucky,” she said very slowly, “is he going to be okay?”

For the longest time, Bucky didn’t say a word and Darcy thought she might throw up. And then a pink tongue peaked out between his lips, rolling over the bottom one to wet it. He shook his head, staring at the road and simply answered with: “I won’t lie to you, Darcy.”

Her blood was ice and she was falling farther and farther away from herself and she barely remembered turning to face Bucky once more.

“Where are we going?” She asked and everything was numb.

Bucky glanced at her. “To get Steve’s shield.”

And she could only nod.

* * *

Back in the labs, Bruce sat on a rolling office chair taking turns staring at the stone, Groot (who was also staring at the Soul Stone, but he also wasn’t blinking), and the door that lead to the Hulk Crusher. Tony had shown up not long after Steve had given out his orders. The Iron Legion was on its way from the tower in Manhattan, which should have been comforting, but Bruce found it difficult to see the bright side of anything when the Compound continued to tremble under fire.

After a particularly fierce quake, Bruce winced, shoulders hitching up to his ears. Taking a bracing sort of breath, he forced himself to half smile and turn to Groot (whose concentration at this point had become almost frightening).

“So,” Bruce started, dragging out the word. “This is all horrible.”

Groot blinked—finally—and answered in a brusque, “I am Groot,” before turning back to the stone.

“Remember to breathe,” Bruce reminded the teenage tree gently and was promptly ignored.

Feeling his heartrate increase, stress pulling at the edges of his mind, Bruce was about to ease into a well-known meditation when a mechanical screech tore through the air. Alarms immediately followed and on the other side of the lab, a long-forgotten piece of equipment came to life on its own, the radio telescope spinning on its head while it blared a siren call.

“Oh god,” Bruce jumped to his feet and rushed over to the _TeleThor_ , hands flailing about, “not this thing again.”

Groot appeared over his shoulder as static erupted, loose and crackling, like an old record player. Eyes widening, Bruce stared at the _TeleThor_ and then leaned close to it, whispering…

“Hello?” Bruce paused, looking around and then tried again, feeling dumb. “Hello? Is… is someone there?”

The _TeleThor_ whirred and creaked and moaned like it belonged in the _Exorcist_ , crackling static rolling through its speakers. A flap of duct tape hung loosely from the base of the machine and Bruce offhandedly pressed it back into place at the same second a voice bellowed out through the speaker—

“ _Banner!_ ”

* * *

The air inside of the Skrulls ship was tense. 

After calling them in, Carol had flown ahead leaving them all behind in the dust as she shot through the sky like a burning star. Something had blown out the communications at the Compound and considering that it was _Stark’s_ fucking tech, Clint knew it had to be something _huge_. 

A very large part of him wondered if it was Darcy and the guilt in that thought had been eating away at him ever since.

His leg ached, the stitches pulling every time he shifted in his seat, but Clint tried to ignore it. He eyed Natasha as she spoke in quiet tones with Talos in the cockpit. When she straightened and her eyes connected with his across the ship, her face grim. Clint’s heart let out a single, solid thump against his ribcage.

Quickly, Natasha walked over, urgency and dread in every line of her body for those who knew how to read her. When she was close enough, she slid into the seat next to him, rasping out, “They picked up an armada on the radar.”

Clint went still.

“Five ships,” Natasha continued, staring straight ahead, her voice smooth and blank, “massive, closing in on the Compound.”

“Fuck,” Clint cursed, falling back into his seat. “Oh, _fuck_.” Next to him, Natasha was still as stone, and Clint thought that it was an awful, awful thing: helplessness. “It’s happening,” he was saying and didn’t even realize it was him. “It’s happening and we _aren’t there_.”

Slowly, the redhead turned to him and her eyes burned with a holy kind of fire.

“We will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun, dun, DUN. 
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) for sneak peeks, chats, manips, and random photos of my dog.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, 2021, huh? What a year. I had a pretty strange health scare that lasted over a week and left me unable to even walk on my own. Not fun. Thankfully I’m on the mend! It seems like everything in the world wants to delay my chapters. Hmph.
> 
> Thank you to all my readers and Tumblr friends!
> 
> ONWARD!

_“…lo? Hello?_ ” A loose, crackling, static-filled voice rolled out from the ship’s speaker and for one long second, no one breathed. 

“ _Is… is someone there?_ ”

Loki’s eyes snapped up and locked onto Jane, silently urging her to reply, but it was Thor who rushed forward, shoving the younger god roughly out of his way with a shout. “Banner!”

There were a few seconds of delay and then—

“ _Thor?!_ ”

An elated laugh punched its way out of the god’s chest. “Yes!” Thor drew even closer to the small microphone, hunching over it while bellowing, “Jane and Loki are here as well, we are using the _TeleThor!_ ”

“I am surrounded by idiots,” Loki rubbed at his temples and rolled his eyes heavenward, and then he snapped, louder—“Thor, calm down. I am sure he can hear you just fi—”

“ _Sh_ ,” Jane held up one finger in his direction and Loki went still with surprise, his mouth unintentionally clicking shut. 

And for the life of him, he had no idea as to _why_.

This tiny wisp of a creature didn’t even look at him and he… _hesitated_ at her order. Him, Loki, a _god_. It was an instinctual reaction that few, aside from the soft-spoken man on the other end of the line and Thanos himself, had been able to pull from him and this infuriating being didn’t even _notice_. 

He would have snarled at her for her insolence, if it weren’t for the savage thing crawling under his skin, clawing its way to the surface to lift its head in recognition, black eyes glittering in the abyss.

 _How did you manage to find a human with fire in her bones?_ Valkyrie had asked and Loki hadn’t been paying attention before… but he was now.

Distantly, Banner was replying to Thor but his words fell on deaf ears. Openly staring at the mousy-haired woman who stood no taller than the middle of his chest, Loki exhaled, more to himself than anyone else, “What _are_ you, Jane Foster?”

Over her head, Thor’s eyes flicked up, his brows furrowed, while Jane, completely oblivious, rushed forward, “Is Darcy okay?” 

It was like being dunked under an icy river.

The mention of the stonekeeper had Loki snapping back to himself with a sharp inhale. Tearing his gaze away from Jane, his mind flickered to a different place, a different human—the woman with the midnight hair and the foul mouth.

Darcy.

Just the mention of her name brought an uncomfortable prick of guilt in the center of his chest. One which Loki did his best to shove away. Guilt was not something he was used to; it didn’t fit right on him and it felt old, stale—like a pair of boots that had yet to be effectively broken in, and he did not like the way it fisted his heart, twisting it like a gnarled tree root. He did not like the way it required him to take _ownership_ —especially for the life of a human. Humans were weak and pitiful, they were born and then they died in the blink of an eye. Their lives were nothing to him.

The humans were Thor’s business, not that he even understood what Thor saw in these creatures in the first place. But then again, Thor was bound by morals and a noble code; Loki was bound by his own interests alone. It was something he had always known about himself and even embraced it without shame.

Which is why the guilt was so _confounding_. Guilt for the life of a stonekeeper who was going to die anyway.

And the absolute silence from Banner on the other end of the device did not help the growing feeling.

Neither did the way Thor’s entire body stiffened, like he was bracing to be struck. Loki observed his brother, watched the way his heart—a thing far too big, far too forgiving, and far too kind for its own good—bled through his very eyes while he waited to hear how the stonekeeper fared and he knew then: Thor loved her.

Not as he loved Jane, but there were many kinds of love and Thor’s heart was large and cavernous enough to fit the whole of Midgard in it.

 _Love is weakness, nothing more_ , Loki’s mind hissed, wholly ignoring the Thor-shaped weakness in the center of his being. 

“ _Darcy?_ ” Banner’s voice sliced through the air; air that had slowly turned raw and full of welts.“ _She and Barnes got out of here not too long ago_.”

Thor finally exhaled, his broad shoulders dropping in relief while Jane latched onto his arm with both hands, a soft noise escaping her throat. 

Loki felt no such relief from his guilt.

“ _I am Groot!_ ” Squawked a young voice on the other end and the raven-haired god blinked in surprise and turned his head towards the speaker. It had been a millennium since he heard the language of a Flora Colossus and his brain was sifting through the translation, but Thor was leagues ahead, squinting in concern.

“Tree has been tasked with guarding the stone? Where are the others?”

“They gave the Soul Stone to Groot?” Jane repeated, incredulous, and Thor just gave her a heavy look.

There was a crackling sound, then—“ _Yeah… we don’t have a lot of other options right now. Cap and Tony and the kid are holding Thanos at bay. Please tell me you are on your way and bringing some friends_.”

“Soon,” Thor promised. “Valkyrie is readying the army now and we should reach you by nightfall.”

Silence answered them.

The speaker crackled. “ _Nightfall?_ ” Banner’s voice was very small; despair coloring each syllable. “ _That’s—that’s_ hours _away. Thor… I don’t think you realize how dire this is_.”

Thor’s face screwed up, twisting in agony; he kept his voice calm and steady. “You must outlast him.”

“ _I don’t—_ ” Banner began and then stopped and even through the poor quality of the speaker, they could hear the low, rattling explosions in the distance; the place was about to collapse. Jane audibly gasped. When Banner spoke next, he was very quiet, “ _I don’t think we can. Not like this._ ”

Slowly, Thor’s eyes slid shut and his fingers curled into white-knuckled fists. 

“Hold the line, my friend,” Thor’s told him, the words thick and choked. “We are coming.”

The call ended with a crackle and a zap and silence descended, sliding under Loki’s skin and wrapping around his bones. The three of them stood there for what felt like a very long time, and then Thor lifted his head.

His brother’s eyes were dark and burning and before the words were out of his mouth, Loki knew what he was going to say, what he was going to do.

“Loki, you and Valkyrie will lead the army in my stead.”

“Thor…” Loki began but found that he didn’t have the words to finish. Inside of his chest, his own heart clenched, twisting even further, choking him in a knot at the base of his throat.

“I cannot abandon them to such a fate. I _will_ not,” Thor’s voice was an edict. “If it is in my power to help, then it is my duty.” 

_Damn your duty,_ is what Loki wanted to say, _leave the humans to fend for themselves_. 

Instead all he could do was shake his head. 

For centuries he had watched his older brother run into the hellfire of battle, many times at his side, but something about this, something about _now_ felt… wrong. He couldn’t explain the sense of dread that suddenly surged in him, swelling, like he was in a fathomless sea, great and terrible waves crushing him until he was under their weight, sinking, sinking, sinking—

Blinding terror unearthed itself in the pit of his belly and a cruel, cold smile flashed in his mind. This was not guilt, this was not madness; this was death itself. 

This was _Thanos_.

And Thor was going in blind. Loki _knew_ this enemy intimately and _nothing_ could prepare them for—

A large, meaty hand cupped the side of his neck and wild emerald eyes flew to Thor’s. For years, Loki had kept an invisible shield between him and the world, keeping everyone at arm’s length. There were chinks in that armor and Thor found each and every one in mere seconds, slipping beneath the cool façade to the skulking, wounded creature beneath and all at once it was as if Loki was just a child once more. Years were stripped from his pale face and fear wrapped its thorny vines around his throat, choking him. 

_Love is weakness._

“Steel your heart, little brother,” Thor’s voice was that of the gods of old; that of a king, crownless but noble. “Fear will lose every battle it wages against hope. This is _not_ over yet, not while I live.” Loki blinked rapidly, throat tightening further. He swallowed and the sound echoed.

Thor just stared at him, stars pinwheeling in his eyes, and then he released his hold on the younger god.

Reeling, the instant Thor let go, Loki scrambled for his invisible armor once more, but his chest felt was blown open, like the shutters on a house in a great windstorm. That terror that he had so carefully hidden away, ignored, shoved deep down in the marrow of his bones for years, was howling with a vengeance.

“First, I will go and speak with Valkyrie,” Thor was saying and his voice was muffled in Loki’s ears. “Loki…” that deep voice rumbled and Loki, shaken, slowly lifted his head and met Thor’s searching gaze. It was a measuring, weighing kind of look. Whatever it was his brother was searching for, he must have found it because Thor cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I am aware that you and Jane are not fond of one another, but in my stead I would ask—”

“Of course, I will watch over her,” Loki cut him off, his voice sounding odd even to his own ears.

The long measuring gaze was back and something about it and the fact that it was turned on him even now hurt. It hurt in places Loki had not allowed a soul entry to in years.

Loki knew he deserved it, he knew he deserved Thor’s suspicion, his doubt, he knew he deserved every hateful word thrown his way and more, he knew there were some betrayals that ran too deep—perhaps even for Thor—but he could not deny the deep ache pulsing in him this moment.

It was a new thing bubbling up in his chest even as he tried to choke it back down. The guilt ate at him, gnawing away. His armor was slipping, _crumbling_ —

After what felt like a century, Thor finally nodded. “Thank you.”

He turned away, satisfied, when the words came to a boil and spilled out of Loki’s throat, splattering on the ground before them.

“I am not a monster.”

Loki’s voice was not loud, but it carried and reverberated in the ship and Thor, with his back to him, went utterly still.

It was a slow thing, the way that Thor twisted back to face the raven-haired god. Where Loki had been stripped of his years earlier, Thor’s face now bore the weight and the history of them both and it was _crushing_ him. There was a deep ravine between him and his brother, a jagged thing ripped through with a knife of bitterness and jealousy and anger and Loki stood at the edge.

And suddenly, his armor was not just slipping—it was nowhere to be found.

Breath was shakily rushing in Loki’s lungs and he couldn’t stop and at the same time he refused to say anything else, even as Thor carefully approached him once more, glacier eyes locked on him. Loki’s chest started to shudder and he couldn’t exhale; air just kept rushing in but had no way out. _He_ had no way out. 

The raven-haired god eyed his older brother, his gaze wild and filled with a very new kind of fear (or perhaps a very old one). 

_I am not what you think I am._ But Loki couldn’t say it, he couldn’t say anything; had never allowed himself to think such a thing before. All he could do was gasp in air.

_I am not what Thanos made me into._

“I have never said that you were a monster,” Thor murmured, his voice quiet and sad and Loki examined each word. He tasted no lie—and _that_ , shook him more than anything else. As if he knew, as if he _understood_ , Thor reached up, sliding his hand around the back of Loki’s neck and pulled. Loki instantly stiffened, digging in his heels, and when it became apparent to Thor that he would not give in, could not cross that bloody ravine between them by himself, the God of Thunder crossed it for him.

Thor bowed his head until the two brothers, one golden and one raven, touched foreheads. 

“I will tell you what you are, Loki,” Thor said in a fierce whisper. “You _are_ my brother and you always will be.”

The words were both a bridge and a balm; strong enough to hold entire worlds between them.

It was a long time before Loki was finally able to exhale and when he did, the God of Mischief, utterly mortified at his own _weakness_ , swiftly gathered himself and pulled back from Thor, each vertebra in his spine straightening even further (unbending, _unyielding_ ). Flicking his eyes off to the side, unable to bear a second longer, Loki slammed the moment shut with a bang. 

“Don’t touch me,” he said, jerking away from Thor, panting slightly. His words lacked any real venom. It took a few moments, but soon Loki’s favorite mask returned to him, a measure of unfeeling aloofness and the god sniffed once before it fully settled into place.

And Thor, the idiot, had the nerve to watch the process with a smug little grin. 

Loki’s hackles raised; he wanted to bare his teeth at him. Instead, he inwardly tightened his armor, fortifying it, and settled for arching one delicate dark brow as he picked at an invisible fleck of dust on his shoulder.

“You are my brother,” Thor repeated and there was something almost like a smile in his voice, “no matter how many times you turn into a snake and stab me.”

“He _stabbed_ you?!”

Both gods whirled around to face Jane who was, rightfully so, aghast. Loki had forgotten her presence entirely, but when she slid dangerous, narrowed eyes his way as though he were a demon that needed to be destroyed, Loki wondered if his brother had just unknowingly added another nail into his coffin.

Thor nodded enthusiastically at his love, ignorant to the glint of violence in her amber eyes. “Oh yes, more than once. But the snake incident was when we were quite young.”

Jane’s mouth dropped open and Loki kept his face perfectly blank.

“Come now, brother,” the God of Mischief began in the most bored tone he could manage, “must we continually rehash this? That was _one time_ and you really should have learned to leave those creatures where they belong. I was teaching you a valuable lesson. Perhaps you should even thank me.”

“But I love snakes.”

A beat of silence and then Loki dipped his head, allowing his lips to curve in a smile that, for once, wasn’t an angular or sharp thing. “I know.”

* * *

In any other circumstance, it would have been beautiful.

Through the churning black smoke, the rising sun glared over the tops of the swaying trees painting the sky in brilliant streaks of pink and orange and red. The light pierced through the columns of ash and soot and glinted off the metal of Tony’s suit as he steadily flew higher. His muscles were strung tight as a bowstring, gaze locked on the heavy cloud rack above and what lay beyond.

He wasn’t carrying a missile this time but the situation was similar enough that his body was convinced otherwise and it was a fight to push past the cold terror crawling up his spine. 

Mouth grim, orange flames burst from his feet as he propelled himself faster. Tony entered the thick layer of gossamer clouds like a knife slicing through butter and for a moment all that he could see was a blinding white fog.

And then his stomach dropped.

Piercing through the clouds, his vision cleared, and there was a split second where terror gripped him so strong, his mind, which had so rarely failed him before, went utterly blank. In that second, there was nothing that existed outside of that weighty, cold dread.

Above him, above the clouds, above the Compound, five gargantuan warships hovered, each one the size of three football fields or more. He was a speck of dust to them—an ant, so easily crushed. They floated, hovering, still as death. At the base of the ship closest to him two gleaming barrels had lowered, aimed directly at the Compound below. Smoke wafted from them and he could hear the hissing sizzle of heated metal.

Tony clenched his teeth, flying underneath the ship to get a closer look. “FRIDAY, scan for weak spots.”

“ _Scanning now_.”

Stunned by the sheer size of what they faced, Tony flew the perimeter of the first ship, all the while keeping an eye on the guns. 

“ _Sir, each ship is equipped with a deflector shield._ ” FRIDAY informed him.“ _You’ll need to find a way to disable it before you can strike successfully._ ”

“And how do I do that?” 

Even as he examined it up close, the structure of the ship was foreign to him. Frustrated, Tony frowned, his mind buzzing.

“ _I have been trying to break into the mainframe, but from all appearances, I am afraid it will have to be done manually from the inside._ ”

The twin barrels, dark and glinting in the morning sun, groaned. Tony’s eyes darted to them as they coiled inward, preparing to fire once more at the crumbling Compound and before the billionaire could think about what he was doing, he lifted his hand and shot off a blast at the guns.

It was like a pebble being thrown at a redwood tree.

The blast hit the ship’s shield with a low electric hum that rippled out in a blue wave as it absorbed the strike. And then he shot at it again and again and again, mouth twisting into an ugly grimace of rage.

FRIDAY’s voice was urgent, “ _Sir, that won’t—_ ”

“I know it won’t,” he cut her off with a grunt, circling around the massive barrels as he fired at it, switching his position each time. “I’m _trying_ to piss him off.”

But it was too late. 

The trigger was pulled, a blast of heat exploded from the barrel and the reverberation of the shot hit Tony like a forcefield, knocking him backwards. Red and gold limbs flailed as he was thrown back, dropping a solid twenty feet in the air, ears ringing from the explosion. It was a graceless thing the way he righted himself, arms and legs swinging like a windmill.

A second later— _BOOM!_

His eyes flicked down to where he knew the Compound was below and the anger that filled Tony now was something he had never quite experienced before. He felt like he was expanding, like all the empty places inside him were being filled by rage as he thought of the kid down there, young and pale with wide eyes that hadn’t been jaded by the cruelty of the world. He thought of Bruce who wanted nothing more than to disappear into peaceful obscurity and Steve who challenged Tony in every frustrating way possible but was a good man and he thought of all of them being blown to smithereens. 

“Fine,” his voice went quiet with a calm, icy sort of rage, “we’ll play that way.”

Arching across the sky like a dying, fiery star, Tony raced to the front of the ship. If he could get Thanos’ attention elsewhere…

Rising up slowly, Tony revealed himself in front of the massive window. He could only see his reflection hovering in mid-air staring back at him, but he called out in his loudest, most obnoxious voice anyway. 

“Hi, hello asshole. It’s me, remember me? Yeah, that’s right, you once threw a moon at my head. You know _exactly_ who I am,” Tony’s eyes became narrows slits and his voice dropped a whole octave. “Stop blowing up my stuff.”

Silence answered.

Tony jut his chin out, staring hard at the reflection of himself in the smooth window and he felt that anger sear through his veins once more imaging Thanos on the other side. “And since you didn’t get the message last time…”

He lifted both hands and gave the occupants inside the ship the middle finger.

“ _Boss…_ ” FRIDAY cautioned and Tony shook her off breezily, still firmly holding up both middle fingers.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fi—”

A screeching metal groan cut him off and Tony shifted backwards, wild eyes running over the ship. Enormous doors rolled open from not one but all _five_ of them simultaneously. Three seconds later, a whole herd of goddamn space-whales came roaring out.

Tony inhaled sharply. 

“ _Uh-oh_.”

* * *

The kid was fast.

He stayed on Steve’s heels and for once, the super soldier wasn’t holding back. Lights overhead flickered as another round of bombing burst just outside, the sound muted through the steel shell of armor now surrounding the Compound. They sprinted through the hangar, pavement pounding under their feet. There was one aircraft, a sleek-looking Quinjet that was built for stealth, and Steve veered sharply towards it, his eyes flicking to the hangar doors ahead.

“FRIDAY,” he shouted, Peter’s footsteps thudding just behind him, “Open the doors.”

“ _Captain,_ ” the AI’s lilting accent rang through, “ _The security measures are in place for a reason—_ ”

“Do it!”

Steve skidding to a stop as he reached the jet and slammed his hand on a button. The ramp cracked open with a hiss and slowly lowered; a bead of sweat slipped down his temple. Peter panted beside him, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“We’re flying up there?” The teen asked, his voice rising at the end.

He sounded so goddamn young.

Steve spared him a glance at the same moment the hangar doors split open. Wheels rolled back with a low, deep hum; his eyes darted to the massive doors. A haze of sunlight and smoke poured through the opening, curling inside and Steve squinted at the sight.

“C’mon,” the blond raced up the Quinjet ramp. Peter clumsily scrambled after him, eyes wide as saucers. 

Steve immediately closed the ramp before they could be choked out by the smoke. Darkness encased them but the serum had rendered that to never be a problem for him. Exhaling, his pulse jumping in his throat, the blond turned and hurried to the cockpit, boots making a metallic thump with every step. Sliding into the pilot’s chair, Steve stared down at the myriad of controls on the dashboard and it was a visceral thing, the way he remembered sitting in another jet in another time.

Peter gingerly lowered himself into the co-pilot chair beside him, eyes locked on his too-still form. “You really know how to fly this thing?”

 _I know how to crash it_ , was the thought that flit through Steve’s mind, but what he said instead was, “We’re not flying. We’re going to use the guns.”

* * *

“You should rest while you can. Valkyrie informed me they will not be ready to depart for some hours,” Thor rumbled, tugging at the hem of chainmail around his wrist. Across the room, Jane was seated on the bed in quiet contemplation. Flames crackled in the stone fireplace; Thor had added an extra log when they arrived back at their room before donning his leathers. Though it was the summer months, they were far enough north that the cold still crept in.

Stormbreaker and Mjolnir glinted in the firelight like living things. Straightening his jerkin for the third time, Thor carefully watched the woman who carried his very heart in the palm of her hand.

“I’m not tired,” Jane argued in a soft, almost absent, voice. 

She was very nearly swallowed by the blankets surrounding her, and in the firelight, his Jane was truly beautiful. Her messy hair fell around her face, the shirt she was wearing was two sizes two big, baring the skin of one shoulder to the golden, flickering light. Brows—thick, dark, and straight—met fiercely together as Jane stared into the flames with a startling kind of ferocity.

Thor stepped towards her and Jane’s eyes flashed to his. She moved to rise, but the god held out a hand and gestured for her to remain. The bed dipped severely as he sat in front of her crossed legs and Thor inhaled, preparing to speak his heart.

“Be safe,” Jane rushed out, beating him to it. 

Her voice was not afraid, it was not small, it was steel hardened by water and fire. Amber eyes seemed to glow and Thor could not help himself as he swooped in, cupping her face between both of his scarred hands, and kissed her. Small hands latched onto his biceps, Jane’s fingers digging into the chainmail; her lips were warmer than the fire itself. It took the strength of a god to pull away from her mouth and not immediately rush back in.

“And you as well, my Queen,” Thor murmured as they parted, a breath width apart. Jane’s eyes fluttered open and the light caught in them and they shined like the golden halls of Asgard. 

Jane stared at him and she did not cry; there were no tears to be found but something else entirely and it gave the god pause. 

“Jane?” He frowned and pulled back, watching her closely. “What is it?”

Her eyes searched his, the amber somehow ignited by the oranges and reds of the fire; the room was beginning to glow in the rising of the sun. 

“When you meet Thanos,” she said, finally, her voice dropping very low, “make him pay.”

The words echoed like the slamming of a door and they both felt it, all the ways they had changed since the Snap and it was all Thor could do to nod.

“With pleasure.”

The two held each other’s gazes for a long moment and something seemed to settle between them; an agreement. Thor’s wide chest expanded with a bracing lungful of air and then he rose to his feet, trailing a knuckle down Jane’s cheek. Her eyes slowly slid shut at his touch and Thor’s heart squeezed tightly in his chest.

And then he ripped himself away, snatching up Mjolnir and Stormbreaker; the weight of Jane’s eyes followed him the entire way to the door.

Stepping out into the hallway, Thor carefully rolled his shoulders and hefted his weapons closer. He moved quickly, mouth set in a grim line, and in no time found his way out of the main hall, bursting through the double doors into the courtyard of the small fishing village. 

In the east, the sun had risen. Its golden fingertips stretched out to touch him. Thor braced himself, planting his feet firmly to the ground and called upon the one companion he had known his entire life. A buzzing began in the pit of his belly and it crackled and grew, shooting down through his legs and his feet into the earth beneath him. 

Thunder rolled above.

Thor tilted his head back, eyes blazing, and tightened his grip on Mjolnir as he raised Stormbreaker to the sky, calling forth the deep magic that lived in his very bones.

And nothing happened.

He stood there, holding the mighty axe to the skies above, waiting for the blinding light of the rainbow bridge… and nothing. 

Dark clouds gathered above and lightning flashed, jumping from cloud to cloud, and yet still, Thor waited. Frowning, he slowly lowered Stormbreaker and stared down at his hands curled around the hilt of both weapons. White tendrils of electricity crackled and skittered over his skin, strength filled his limbs, and yet—

“Just how much of that ‘ _Eirflower_ tonic’ have you given to Darcy?”

The question was slow and careful and underneath Loki’s even tones, Thor could hear the sharp disapproval. He inhaled abruptly and stiffened and did not turn around to face his brother. Slow footsteps walked towards him and then Loki stepped into his line of sight, keen emerald eyes roaming over every inch of him before settling on his face utterly unreadable. 

“You have not fooled me Thor, I know what you have done. It makes sense now, why she—a meager human—did not succumb sooner to the stone.” Loki paused and frowned, shaking his head. “Why?”

There was a long moment of silence as the two stared at one another and Thor found that the only thing he could say… was the truth. 

“I would have given more for all that she has given to us. For all that she has given me.”

Loki said nothing for a solid minute, confusion floating in and out of his face, and then—

“You truly love the stonekeeper.” 

It was not a question; it was fact. 

Thor nodded deeply. “As if she were blood of my blood and bone of my bone.”

Loki looked like he couldn’t decide whether he was confounded even further or just deeply disturbed. “Upon my word, brother: caring for the humans is nothing but a risk. It is not worth it.”

“She is.”

The words were heavy on his tongue and there was something about them; something that felt very much like truth that wanted to make itself understood.

Loki went very still and just looked at him. His eyes darted back and forth between Thor’s and the blond watched about five different emotions flash across his brother’s face in the span of a few seconds.

The God of Thunder thought of Darcy, he thought of her face and its familiar curves and angles and her bright blue eyes and her hands that held him together for all these weeks and months, hands split and tore under the weight of an infinity stone, the heart in her chest that couldn’t bear the idea of taking a life and so she gave her own and he stood by his word. 

_She saved me_ , Thor thought, and almost wanted to tell him. _I owe her my life._

“Will you be strong enough to fight?”

Thor’s gaze snapped back to Loki.

“Of course,” the smile he gave the raven-haired god was very tight and did not reach his eyes. “I will just have to wait my turn and journey with you.”

Lightning flashed in the distance.

* * *

By some miracle, Steve managed to power up the Quinjet and get it to the mouth of the hangar without any hiccups. It had been a long time (decades) since he had operated any kind of plane and thankfully things had not changed beyond recognition. The problem now though was the billowing smoke and the cloud cover. Both did a fine job of hiding any clear sight of what they were actually up against and without a target to shoot at, Steve and Peter were at a standstill.

Tony had gone up for a fly-by ten minutes ago and in that time, the assault had somehow slowed down. The silence was unnerving. The woods surrounding the Compound were burning and the west-facing wall of the Commons had been obliterated into nothing more than a pile of rubble. 

“What now?”

Lifting his brows, Steve slanted a look at the teen and sighed. “We wait.”

Peter went quiet again and, in the silence, Steve had to force himself not to dwell on Darcy and Bucky. But that was easier said than done. The adrenaline had been constant since the second he woke up and found Darcy under the control of the stone and now that he was finally sitting still, it began to ebb away. Once it did, they were like a mantra in his mind, one after another, separate and together, two and one, breathe in and breathe out, Darcy, Bucky.

It was a strange thing; Steve was simultaneously glad that they were far from this place while also aching for their presence. He ached because he didn’t trust it—so many things had been taken from him and he didn’t trust for the one thing that he wanted most in the world to remain. And he was glad because if either Bucky or Darcy were anywhere near this place, Steve wouldn’t be able to _think_ straight, let alone do his fucking job. Bucky could take care of himself but there was a part of Steve that would never forget the broken, hollowed out man he tracked down all over Europe. 

And Darcy? 

Steve wouldn’t have trusted her to follow a single goddamn order to save her life, maybe especially to save her life.

_Christ, she really is like me._

His mind flew back to their argument and God forgive him; he had never raised his voice at a woman like that in his life until Darcy Lewis. 

Leather squeaked suddenly under Peter’s weight as he shifted in his chair and the sound drew Steve’s attention back to the present. The teen’s brows were furrowed, his mouth turned down at the corners.

“Is it always like this?” He asked softly and Steve didn’t answer right away. Peter’s throat worked. “The waiting?”

Steve thought about that and what it had been like hunkering down in the cold, filthy trenches in Europe for hours and hours and hours and he nodded. “It’s the worst part of war more often than not.”

A beat of silence.

“I thought killing would be.” Steve’s eyes flew to the teen, but Peter was staring straight ahead, his eyes a million miles away. “I’ve never killed anyone before.” 

Steve wracked his brain for some kind of response. “It’s…” Steve started and then stopped. A few years prior, and his answer would have been very different. Now it was _Steve_ who was different. “It’s easier when they’re not human or when you’re doing it to protect someone who can’t protect themselves. It—it gets easier with time.”

“I said I’ve never killed anyone before,” Peter slowly turned to him and there was something underneath his words. “Not that I wouldn’t.”

 _Darcy would be better with this_ , was all Steve could think as he stared, dumbstruck, at the teenager. 

It was a long time before he was able to bring himself to speak and when he did, it was point blank. “Listen Peter, I’m not going to tell you what to do. It’s going to be a firefight today and if you can incapacitate them without killing them, do that. If you want to make sure they never get up and have the chance to hurt anyone ever again…” Steve trailed off and pressed his lips together before he merely shrugged. “Follow your gut.”

The two stared at once another for what felt like a lifetime.

And then the world exploded.

The missile struck without warning—it sailed to the earth like a meteor not far from the hangar itself and the jet rocked side to side under the impact, clumps of earth rocketing sky-high, landing on the windshield like hail. Both Steve and Peter braced themselves, nearly getting tossed from their seats.

“Get ready, Queens,” Steve bit out, peering through the cloud of smoke and falling dust. Still, he saw nothing. Squinting, the blond tilted his head up, searching the sky, hands wrapped around the Gatling gun triggers as he murmured, “Where are you…”

“Incoming!” Peter shouted at the same moment Tony shot through the cloud cover like a red and gold bullet.

Steve’s eyes widened, breath locking in his chest. Stark was headed straight for them like a bat out of hell and emerging from the clouds behind him was a _herd_ of Chitauri leviathan.

“What is _that?!_ ” Peter shouted, flinching back in his seat. “A giant flying centipede?! A SPACE-BUG?!” 

Jaw clenched, Steve shifted the Gatling gun barrels upwards. “Just shoot it!”

Peter’s hands hovered over the missile launcher, hesitating. “What about Mr. Stark? We could hit him!” 

“Start with the ones on the outer edges,” Steve bared his teeth, narrowing his eyes as he pulled the trigger. 

The Quinjet rocked in place as the gun fired a succession of shots, the sound battering Steve’s eardrums. He emptied nearly an entire round on one creature and it barely made a dent, bouncing off of it like nothing more than sparks. His lips curled back in a grimace, eyes flicking over to the teen who had frozen, his lips parted in shock.

“Switch,” Steve commanded, and Peter jumped, head whipping up. “Switch with me,” he said again, explaining, “I need more firepower.”

Peter clamored out of his seat in a gaggle of stray limbs as they traded places. Wrapping his hands around the command stick, Steve aimed once more. Tony was getting closer but so was one of the creatures on his tail, its jaws opened wide—ready to swallow him whole.

And Steve saw his opportunity.

The instant the crosshairs landed on the creature in the center, right in it’s big fucking mouth, he pulled the trigger.

The missile shot off with a high-pitched hiss and a blast of fire, zipping through the air with a trail of white smoke, the Quinjet rocking backwards once more. Tony veered to the right and the missile flew directly into the creatures gaping mouth. 

Above the Quinjet, Stark soared into the hangar a split second before the Chitauri leviathan imploded. It splintered down the middle, fire split through its skin like a cracked desert floor, and Steve watched with a twisted kind of glee as the thing fell in a dead weight crashing face first into the ground.

The ground shook, earth and debris rained down on them again, and for a long moment, they were blinded. Peter panted, staring out the windshield, his mouth working—opening and closing like a fish. 

“Holy _shit_ , holy shit, holy shitholyshitholysh—”

The Quinjet hissed and they whirled around. The ramp slowly lowered, revealing the glowing white eyes of Iron Man. 

“Careful youngling,” Tony called out in a mechanical voice. “Cap here isn’t fond of coarse language.”

Steve gave the billionaire a withering look to which he utterly ignored as he walked inside. When Tony was close enough, the helmet on his suit retracted. Dark eyes were on the dirt covered windshield and he gripped the back of Steve’s chair, bending over to stare at the destruction outside the Compound and the burning leviathan.

The others were circling, swimming through the air like sharks, and Tony’s mouth twisted, something unreadable flitting through his gaze, “Why does this feel just like New York?”

Slowly, Steve turned to stare at the billionaire. Their eyes locked, heavy and haunted.

“Um, guys?”

Snapping back around, Steve followed the teen’s pointed finger to the clouds. Appearing through the mist like a giant predator, Thanos’ ship finally revealed itself and buzzing around it like a swarm of angry hornets were—

“Is that…” Tony trailed off, a sharp frown on his lips.

“Chitauri,” Steve spit out, keeping his eyes on the endless horde pouring out of the ship. His eyes flashed to Tony, “You _had_ to say it, didn’t you?”

Tony ignored the jab, his face paling in a way Steve had rarely seen. “There’s four more of them,” the billionaire said, staring at Steve with a heavy gaze. “Four more ships like that.” 

Silence.

“Is anyone else coming?” Peter asked softly.

Both men turned to the teenager. His young face crestfallen, trying so hard to be brave; Steve could see the reflection of Thanos’ ship in Peter’s eyes. 

“Have we heard from Carol’s crew?” He turned to Tony.

A pause.

Tony shook his head, the movement so small it was almost none-existent. “No word from them.”

Peter exhaled shakily and in his peripheral, Steve watched the kid tuck a trembling hand under his thigh. His gaze darted back to the billionaire, a numb sort of feeling creeping over his skin. “The iron legion?” 

“They should have been here by now.” Tony just looked at Steve, a drowning kind of realization in his dark eyes.

“We’re on our own,” Steve said, quietly, not realizing the words were true until they were out into the smoke-tinged air.

“ _The initial surge of energy from the Soul Stone cut off our communication system with the outside world. I am working to get us back online, but I am aware that Thor was able to make contact with Dr. Banner through another more… primitive device._ ” FRIDAY informed them.“ _He will be here by nightfall with the Asgardians_.”

Tony was staring hard at the ground, his jaw ticked. “Damnit,” the billionaire cursed softly. “That’s not soon enough.” He paused and lifted his gaze, taking in the oncoming storm and his dark eyes were hard and gleaming. “One of us needs to get inside that ship, we need to get into the mainframe to cut off their shield, otherwise…”

“Queens and I will hold the low ground here,” Steve finished, nodding once. Across from him, Peter lifted his head but stayed silent. 

Tony swallowed like he had something stuck in his throat, then—

“Hold them off as long as we can.”

* * *

Somehow, she managed to fall asleep. It hadn’t been a choice; even with the _Eirflower_ tonic flowing through her veins, her body gave her no other option but to shut down. Darcy supposed that it was doing the only thing it could to try and survive.

The seatbelt pulled against her shoulder when she shifted in her seat and slit open her eyes, lips smacking as she slowly came into consciousness. The world was blurry and the light was bright enough that she flinched back from it with a quiet groan. Her muscles ached and she felt hollowed out, like someone had scooped up all of her insides and dumped them on the ground.

“Hey Sunshine,” Bucky’s voice was mild, but intent, and it gave her something to focus on as she fully woke up. “You sleep okay?”

Darcy blearily looked at him and ran her fingers through her hair, catching on a tangled knot with a wince. “I’m still tired,” she said, her voice low. “Why am I always tired?”

The question was rhetorical and from the slanted look Bucky gave her from the driver’s seat, he knew it was, too. They both knew why she was tired no matter how much she slept, why she was slowly being drained—

_Until I’m nothing at all._

And it hit Darcy in a more concrete way than it ever had before. Whether Thanos found her or not, this stone was going to suck her dry. Maybe Loki had been wrong, maybe the Soul Stone wouldn’t physically kill her… maybe it would take from her everything that she was until there was nothing left but a shell of a human being.

A body without a soul.

“Darcy, can you look at me?”

There was something in Bucky’s voice that had her obeying without question. His mouth was tight and his eyes were flicking back and forth from her to the road, gleaming silver fingers on the steering wheel. 

“I’ll be damned,” Bucky breathed at last and there was something almost like a smile in those words.

Darcy shook her head, “What?”

“Look in the mirror.” He nodded his chin at the sun visor and Darcy frowned. Slowly she reached up and flipped it down, lights illuminated automatically on either side of the mirror.

And two bright blue eyes stared back at her, clear as day.

She started, breath hitching in her throat, and then Darcy sagged in relief, hanging her head. “Oh, thank _god_.”

“I think you meant, ‘Oh, thank Thor,’” Bucky quipped and Darcy huffed out a breathless laugh. He was right though, she was indebted to the God of Thunder and if they somehow survived all of this, she would happily spend the rest of her days paying him back. Poptarts, backrubs, whatever he wanted, he would get. 

“Guess that tonic is some pretty heavy-duty stuff.” Darcy hummed aloud, tilting her head back in the seat, her gaze occasionally flicking back to the mirror—just to be sure that she wasn’t dreaming. “Could use another dose for the energy,” she grinned at last, turning to the dark-haired man but he didn’t return the smile. Bucky somehow had the ability to scold her with a single lift of one brow alone. Darcy scoffed and deadpanned, “It’s a joke, Bucky.”

And yet even as the words left her mouth, she was wholly aware that they were only half true. The temptation to take more of the _Eirflower_ tonic was stronger than she would like to admit, if only for the benefits alone.

Bucky said nothing in response. If anything, his brow rose half an inch higher. 

Uncomfortable with his uncanny ability to read through her bullshit, Darcy exhaled heavily through her nose and turned to watch the world fly by outside the windows. They were driving at a ridiculous speed—the kind she was sure she had never even attempted, and the man was doing it as though it were second nature with only one hand on the wheel. She didn’t recognize the area and there were no signs of life beyond the trees and green meadows dotted with wildflowers.

“I know we’re getting Steve’s shield,” she started suddenly, “but any idea as to where we’re actually headed?”

Bucky glanced at her and tapped the GPS system, “It’s no secret. Address is right there.”

“I know that, smartass,” Darcy caught the slight upward tilt of his lips when the curse slipped off her tongue. “I meant _where_ are we going?”

Bucky continued staring straight ahead, the small smile slowly fading and for the life of her, Darcy couldn’t tell what the man was thinking. Finally, he murmured, “Not sure. Wherever it is Stark is sending us though, we’re close.”

Darcy frowned, glancing back down to the GPS. Bucky was right. They were a mile and a half away from their destination and closing in fast. Up ahead was a turn-off on the right into a well-kept dirt road; the car began to slow.

The blinker flicked on and Bucky smoothly pulled off onto it. Their speed reduced even more while Bucky scanned their surroundings cautiously. The road was narrow, one-way, and without a single pothole. On both sides, tall pine trees closed in, casting them in speckled shadows. Darcy leaned forward to get a closer look at the clearing ahead when Bucky’s voice cut her off.

“Put your head down,” he said quietly and there was a split second where she just looked at him. Then, firmer—“ _Darcy_.”

She did as he asked, tossing the strap of the seatbelt over her shoulder so she could bend down below the windows. Silver fingers twitched on the steering wheel and Bucky’s face became eerily blank, his eyes icy and cold and calculating as he pulled the car to a complete stop.

“What’s wrong?” Darcy whispered.

Bucky didn’t answer, his eyes locked ahead as he unclicked his seatbelt. Twisting around, he grabbed a plain navy blue ballcap, a black glove, and a pair of sunglasses. 

“Bucky?”

“Someone’s coming,” was all he said as he settled the hat over his head and worked the glove over his left hand. The sunglasses came next and Darcy watched, still hunched over, in disbelief.

“You really think that’ll work?” She hissed, pointing at his ‘disguise’. “You’re a goddamn super-assassin! That’s just a ballcap and sunglasses. Even _Thor_ wore a better disguise then that.”

The dark-haired man turned towards her for a brief second, expression hard, then murmured, “Stay quiet.”

And he was stepping out of the car before Darcy could even respond. She caught the black handle of a gun in the back of Bucky’s jeans before the door shut with a muted _thump._

Silence descended. 

Shaky breaths left her parted lips, echoing in the stillness and Darcy strained to hear any sign of what was going on. Her heart thumped in her temples and she swallowed, loudly. Then—

“This is private property,” came a muffled male voice, terse and clipped. “Move along.”

Darcy went utterly still, holding her breath as she heard Bucky, his voice just a low murmur, “I was given this address by Tony Stark.”

“Well I’m Mr. Stark’s head of security, I think I would know if he told you to come here,” the other man retorted, his tone increasing in volume. “Now I’m going to give you five seconds to get out of here or else.”

A tense silence followed. Then—

“ _Happy!_ ”

Darcy audibly gasped.

The funny thing about being famous is that it made someone recognizable by their voice alone and Darcy knew the owner of _that_ voice in an instant. Without a second thought, she popped up from her hiding spot, straightening in her seat, mouth and eyes wide open as her gaze locked onto the strawberry-blond goddess swiftly walking down the steps of a modest looking cabin. In the distance, a lake glittered in the early morning sun.

“Pepper Potts,” Darcy exclaimed loud enough to be heard by the occupants outside and Bucky’s entire body tensed before glancing over his shoulder at her. Thankfully due to the sunglasses, Darcy couldn’t see the look in his eyes (most likely resembling murder) and frankly, she didn’t care because—“Holy shit, that’s Pepper _fucking_ Potts!”

Darcy scrambled to clumsily unbuckle herself and clamor out of the car. The goddess divine and boss bitch of CEO’s gave Darcy a passing curious look before sliding her gaze right back to Bucky. She came to a stop next to the person who had first confronted them, a stout man with curly salt and pepper hair. He wore a nice suit with a very sour face, looking for all the world like a well-paid bodyguard, minus the earpiece.

“You said Tony sent you?” Pepper clarified and Bucky, if possible, stiffened even further.

“Yeah,” he said shortly. “We’re here to get Steve’s shield.”

The air shifted immediately. Both Pepper and the bodyguard shared a heavy glance. Finally, she wet her lips, brows that had been plucked to perfection lifting slightly. “Oh.”

“You got a badge?” The man prodded Bucky, as if there was some unspoken command. “Some kind of ID?”

Darcy tilted her head and squinted. “You’re telling me you _really_ don’t recognize him? My god.”

The bodyguard slid shrewd eyes towards her.

“Am I supposed to?”

The question was filled to the brim with suspicion and soon the bodyguard’s gaze was darting back to Bucky, narrowing dangerously as though trying to pick up on what he missed. 

Darcy almost laughed. “Well, I’d imagine he’s pretty recog…” 

The words died on her lips. A warning bell had been ringing loudly in her head, but it caught her tongue far too late. Brows pinching tightly, Darcy slowly turned to Bucky and took in just how tightly wound he had become throughout the whole exchange.

He was already uptight before she opened her mouth, but now? His back was pin-straight, hands in tight fists, jaw clenched so hard that it had turned almost white—he looked like a man about to snap.

Darcy had never been the quickest, or the smartest, and often the filter from her brain to mouth malfunctioned, but as she pieced together Bucky’s odd behavior, it hit her like a sledgehammer to the chest, knocking her breath from her lungs. 

_Oh, you fucking idiot_ , she thought with a sudden and blinding kind of self-hatred, _of course Bucky’s uncomfortable with strangers recognizing him. People don’t remember James Barnes, they remember the fucking Winter Soldier._

Her stomach sank. Panic creeped up her spine, intertwining with a sharp kind of embarrassment. She was practically bragging about his _fame_.

Fame that he probably assumed was centered entirely on him being a brainwashed assassin.

“No,” Darcy said weakly, offering the bodyguard a small but very fake smile. “You’re right. It was just a…” she grasped for some kind of explanation and came up utterly blank. Swallowing, Darcy pressed her lips together, unable to look at Bucky. Her cheeks burned with shame, “I’m sorry, just ignore me.”

Both Pepper and the bodyguard gave her an appraising kind of glance and then Bucky shifted on his feet, clearing his throat. “The Compound is under attack,” he told the pair gruffly, getting back to business. “Tony and Steve and a few others are holding down the base. My job is to keep her safe,” Bucky jerked his thumb back at Darcy and both Pepper and the man’s gazes flew to her. “And to do that, I need to keep her as far from that place as we can get. Stark knows this and sent us here first—said we are going to need the shield.”

It took them a minute to process the information and Darcy watched as it settled on their shoulders, sinking beneath their skin, right to the bone. Her own mind flashed to the image of Tony flying up alone through the smoke to meet Thanos’ ship.

Her stomach clenched.

Pepper’s mouth parted and she shook her head slightly, her voice weak, “Why weren’t we notified? There was no… no alert.”

“Comms got blown out.”

“But FRIDAY should have been able to easily override any disturbance.”

It was a slow thing, the way that Bucky looked at Darcy and she wished now, more than ever, that she could see beyond the sunglasses he wore. He pinned her in place with his stare. “This was something a bit stronger than FRIDAY.”

Darcy lowered her gaze to the ground. 

“How bad is it?” Pepper asked softly.

For a long moment, no one said a word. Darcy thought of Steve begging them to leave, to get out while they could, of him running off to a fight that was bigger than any of them, of his courage and sacrifice for _them_. Steeling herself, Darcy stepped around the car until she reached Bucky’s left side. Carefully, she reached for his clenched hand, the only safe part of him for her to touch. The leather glove was smooth against her fingers and he did not unclench his fist. She held onto him anyway and looked both Pepper and the bodyguard in the eyes. 

“It’s Thanos.” 

It was all Darcy needed to say. Pepper’s face paled, and the man next to her started, inhaling sharply. Darcy’s fingers squeezed Bucky’s closed fist, but he was immovable, like a rock. 

“Wait right here,” Pepper ordered suddenly and turned on her heel.

They watched as she hurried to the garage on the side of the cabin and quickly slipped inside. Darcy sighed in relief and slowly but surely, Bucky’s left hand loosened under her grip. He didn’t turn to look at her, didn’t take his eyes away from the bodyguard, but he did carefully twist his wrist until their hands met palm to palm.

Bucky didn’t intertwine their fingers, but he cupped her hand all the same and the action, after so many days of depriving herself of touch, made her heart skip a beat. His hand was metal, she knew that, but it was warm in a way that she had never imagined, or maybe that warmth was the blood rushing to her face until her cheeks turned a soft pink.

In front of them, the bodyguard watched them, catching her blush, and then he merely crossed his arms over his barrel chest and harrumphed like a grumpy old man. “You know, next time a badge would make this a lot easier.”

* * *

Gravel kicked up as the car pulled out of the driveway and Pepper stood on the porch watching the strange pair leave until they disappeared completely from sight. And even then, she stood eerily still, her mind racing, arms wrapped around her middle, brows pulled low. 

Footsteps approached from behind. The screen door squeaked open and then slammed shut. “Miss Potts?” Happy called, his tone cautious. “What do you want to do?”

Pepper narrowed her eyes.

* * *

Bucky held her hand up until the minute she was back in the car and safely buckled up once more—and she blushed like a teenager the entire time. 

Things were still tense though and neither of them said a word as they got back out onto the road. Bucky tangibly relaxed the further they got from Tony’s lakeside cabin. He removed the sunglasses and hat, tossing them in the backseat and shaking out his hair like a dog. 

He kept the glove on as he drove and did not look at her once.

Darcy openly watched him, watched the blankness that he had donned fade into such a deep kind of sadness that it made her heart hurt for him. It was so strong, she nearly reached for him again, stopping short when she realized she was about to touch his right side, not the left. Her hand stopped mid-air, gradually dropping back into her lap. Still, he did not look at her. A whirlpool of emotions formed beneath her skin, shame at the very center.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet. Bucky’s brows pulled together and Darcy inhaled deeply, guilt stacking up her throat like bricks being laid. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking earlier—about… about the disguise and them not recognizing you. I should have known better.”

Bucky stared straight ahead and shrugged, quiet. “’S’okay.”

Darcy eyes squeezed shut, face twisting, and her hands curls into fists in her lap. “No, it’s really not,” she insisted. “I mean it, Bucky. I am sorry. First, I didn’t listen to you when you told me to stay down and if this had been any other situation, we could have been in serious trouble and it would have been my fault. Second, I just… I didn’t mean for it to come out like it did. I fucked up. It didn’t even cross my mind that it could have been really bad for the wrong people to find out who you are. Because to me—to me you’re just Bucky.”

He was very quiet and for a long while, the only sound was the smooth hum of the engine.

“Thank you,” Bucky murmured slowly, carefully, and for the first time since they left that cabin, he turned and looked at her with those haunted gray eyes. “Meeting new people is hard for me. They don’t always react the best when they find out who I am… what I’ve done.”

“I know who you are.” 

Those five words hung between them, suspended and swirling like dust motes in a beam of light, and Darcy nails bit into the skin of her palm. Bucky went utterly still, and Darcy heart was suddenly hammering in her chest, not because she was afraid but because, maybe, she _wasn’t_. She wasn’t afraid of him, of who he had been, of who he was, of what he could be to her. 

Not anymore.

All this time she had been tip-toeing around the man, so unsure, her legs cut out from under her by her own self-doubt, but as those words left her mouth, the uncertainty fled with them, fleeing out of the pit of her belly like a caged bird. 

Eyes burning, her limbs filling with a burning sort of courage, Darcy twisted in her seat to stare at him full on. Her words at first had been gentle, but she felt something swell in her chest now that it was out in the open, like the waters of clear northern oceans. She kept searching for more, for an explanation, for _better_ words but they slipped out of her grasp. The only thing she could latch onto was the same conviction and it didn’t matter if she repeated herself because this one thing rang like truth in her blood, it marched through her veins, and she could not ignore its fierce sound.

“I know who you are, Bucky Barnes,” she said and the words cracked in her voice.

Bucky’s throat worked, his pulse jumping in it wildly, like it wanted to escape his skin. The steering wheel groaned under his fingers, every muscle in him tightening, and then, like he had been shot with a tranquilizer, like the truth had found their way beneath his skin and into his muscles and bones, Bucky exhaled. 

“Yeah, well, you’n’Steve don’t count,” he murmured, his voice thick with Brooklyn. Gray eyes flicked to her and though there was a teasing note to his voice, they were like armor piercing bullets seeing through to the very core of who she was. “Neither of you has a lick of sense or self-preservation.”

Snickering because he was mostly right, Darcy ducked her head and looked down at her lap. Her heart leapt at his use of the simple phrase, ‘you and Steve’ and she tried not to think too much into it. Instead, Darcy twisted back in her seat to face the road once more, biting her lip. All the while, sneaking little glances at him as a strange sort of shyness enveloped her. 

It felt new and unsteady but bright and brimming with hope.

She remembered what it had been like with Steve; walking out onto an icy lake, unsure if the ground beneath her would hold her weight or if she would fall through and drown. It had been slower with him, too, building the foundation. 

Bucky was different than Steve. She was introduced to him through the eyes of another, through the love of another and it had taken Darcy time to figure out if the way she felt about Bucky came from her or from her love for Steve or even from their connection through the stone. Looking at him now, she was beginning to understand. 

She had once thought of Steve like a work of art and she realized now that Bucky was, too. But he was the kind of art that didn’t get put up in museums because it wasn’t perfect; he was raw, the kind of art that made you _feel_ something. Where Steve was refined, noble, a burning flame, bright and searing; Bucky was devastation.

And both, Darcy thought, were going to ruin her and she didn’t give a damn if they did. She wanted it.

Her heart squeezed inside her chest, thumping hard against her ribcage.

She wanted it.

She wanted them. Not just Steve alone.

 _Them_.

Eyes tracking the sharp jawline covered in stubble, Darcy’s gaze fell on Bucky’s lips. A pink tongue poked out, swiping over his bottom lip and she ripped her eyes away, heart pounding. Staring out the window, she caught Bucky glancing at her in the reflection and the simple fact of knowing that he was looking back gave her courage. 

Inwardly steeling herself, Darcy slowly turned back around to face Bucky, staring at him long enough until he began to stare back between her and the road. On one of the moments his eyes connected with hers, Darcy grinned, sudden and wide and true.

“You looked good with that shield, you know.”

He had. When Bucky took the infamous shield from Pepper, hefting it in his right arm before placing it in the trunk, there had been a moment that Darcy’s jaw had dropped. The shield itself was impressive, a symbol—a relic of what good was supposed to be. But something about seeing it on Bucky’s arm had made her brain short-circuit. 

Gray eyes slid her way and a single dark brow lifted.

“Careful, Sunshine,” Bucky smirked, suddenly all swagger. “Don’t tell Stevie, he might get jealous.”

“No,” Darcy said, slowly, eyes softening in affection as something in her gave way. “I don’t think he will.”

* * *

They kept pouring in, four, nine, fifteen.

Screeches ripped from their throats in the same way their skin tore loose when they met the splintering tip of his Wakandan shields. Steve almost preferred these shields. He couldn’t throw them like his first shield, but these were more brutal, more of a weapon than a defense, and the man he was now was more brutal (more of a weapon) than the man he had been before. Blood splattered his face, foreign and blue, but the smell was the same—metallic, like copper. His teeth bared, shining white in the dark of his beard and the dirt and soot covering him. 

All Steve could think to do was to try and hold the Chitauri off the best he could so they couldn’t reach the Compound. There wasn’t much of a plan, it was pure instinct and for once, he was okay with that. He had been itching for a fight for a long time now and his heart thudded in his chest, eyes wild and gleaming and so fucking _alive_.

Steve sunk the bladed tip of his shield fist deep under the chin of an armored alien feeling the muscle and tendons snap and give way under his force. The dark blade peeked through the creature’s horrid mouth as it wrenched open in a death cry. Steve’s lips curled back, ripping out its throat as he pulled free when—

“CAP—LOOK OUT!”

It happened fast.

He whirled around to a flash of blinding blue light and ducked a millisecond too late. The blast missed his head but from the putrid burning scent, Steve realized that it singed a good portion of his hair. 

_THUMP_.

Snapping his head up, all Steve saw was a cloud of dust and after a moment, the body of a fallen Chitauri. Its limbs were at odd angles and it was twitching but Steve knew in an instant that it was dead or close to it.

The webbing attached to its back though was a surprise. Steve’s eyes tracked the web up to Peter’s hand. The teen stood out like a sore thumb, bodies of fallen Chitauri lay around him and he was a splash of color in it all.

“Thanks Queens,” Steve called out, lifting a hand and sucking in air like a racehorse. His eyes flicked over the kid swiftly, “You good?”

A Chitauri divebombed overhead and Peter reflexively snapped to the side, extending his arm to catch it’s back with his web. With a firm tug, he yanked the creature off its ride until it slammed into the earth, splintering the ground beneath the impact. Steve lifted both brows, impressed.

Peter turned back to him, the obscenely large white eyes of his mask widening even further and Steve could almost picture the expression that was on his face beneath.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Peter shouted back sounding nothing like the frightened kid from before. “Do you have any cigars?”

“Cigars? I…” Steve paused and shook his head, squinting at the kid and wondering who in the hell got him smoking goddamn cigars. “No, I don’t, and you shouldn’t either!”

“Will Smith said—”

Steve missed what he said when one of the Chitauri leapt off a low flying machine and flew at him, arms and legs spread like a spider. Planting his feet and pivoting them into the soft earth, Steve snatched the creature by its throat and crushed it beneath his fist like an eggshell. He watched the light drain from its eyes before throwing it to the ground.

Turning back to the teenager, he squinted and yelled, “What were you saying?”

“Will Smith said in that one movie,” Peter’s voice rose as he backflipped and dodged the myriad of blasts sent his way. “ _Independence Day,_ you know, the one where they fought off an alien invasion—that you needed a cigar to smoke for when the fat lady sings. It was a sign of victory!”

Confused as hell, the only thing Steve could think to shout back was:

“It’s a sign of lung cancer!”

Their shouting drew the attention of another swarm of armored aliens. Steve didn’t wait for them to come to him, he rushed the Chitauri and disarmed the leader of the pack, flipping it over its spear-like weapon; the blond spun around and shot the creature point blank in the face. Peter fell in beside him and with the weapon and his webs, they made quick work of them.

The kid flung the last Chitauri hundreds of feet away, like a rock shooting out of a slingshot, and then turned to Steve. “What I was saying is that Will Smith,” he continued, as though this was a perfectly normal conversation to have in the middle of a war. “And this other guy, the one who was in _Jurassic Park_ , were able to sneak into the alien ship and destroy it from the inside out—and they smoked a cigar after. It was important! Maybe we should get some—for luck!”

Panting, the hundred-year old super soldier just stared at the teenager. “For luck? Kid, you… wait.” Steve stopped and then his eyes widened. He grabbed Peter by the shoulder. “What did you say?”

“Ci-cigars?” Peter sputtered.

“ _No_ , Queens, the _other_ thing, the one about the ship and how they destroyed it?”

“Oh! You mean from the inside out.”

Exhaling explosively, Steve lifted his gaze to the looming warship above. It hovered like a great predator of the sky, an unrealized nightmare, and on the panels alone the side, Chitauri poured out in waves. It was crystal clear; they weren’t fighting to win. There was no winning with the numbers they had right now. They were fighting to stay alive long enough for backup. But if Thanos released anything else… they would be finished.

 _One of us needs to get inside that ship, we need to get into the mainframe to cut off their shield._

That’s what Tony had said. But Tony was busy leading the leviathans on a merry chase in the skies above—someone still needed to get inside.

Steve’s mind raced and then his eyes flew to one of the fallen Chitauri aircrafts. 

“I have an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing for me has always, always been cathartic and as I wrote this chapter, the part that really resonated was a line of Thor’s and it’s one I want to leave you all after the insane month my fellow American friends have had. “Fear will lose every battle it wages against hope.” 
> 
> Hope, my friends. Take hold of it.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) for sneak peeks at upcoming chapters, manips, playlists, and random photos of my dog.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to see the fandom lose their collective shit the day that Darcy appeared back on screen in the MCU. What a time to be alive. WHAT. A. TIME. 
> 
> Speaking of which, shit is about to go down.

The emergency lights flickered behind his eyelids, vibrant—like a bruise.

Air rushed in through his nose, down his throat, inflating his lungs. He kept that breath trapped in his chest for a solid four seconds before carefully releasing it through his parted lips. The floor beneath his feet shook.

_BOOM._

Above his head he heard it, the growing crack splintering its way across the lab ceiling like a piece of glass bearing too much weight. He breathed in again, the frayed edges of his nerves sparking in the careful blankness of his mind like live wires. But there was nothing for them to latch onto, no raging beast pacing beneath the surface, waiting for the chance to grab the reigns. The Hulk had been ripped out of him, a cord torn out of a socket, and the gaping hole left behind was disconcerting after so many years of fighting for control.

_BOOM!_

The walls shuddered; dust fell from above like showers of snow, coating his skin and clothes in a fine layer. His fists clenched. 

Bruce slowly slid his eyes open, squinting in the harsh red-tinted lighting. His gaze flicked to the large steel door across the lab. Behind it was the Hulk Crusher. Bruce chewed on the inside of his cheek and sniffed once, eyeing the door.

Another explosion in the distance. His leg began to jiggle.

There was no word from Tony or Steve or Peter or even Thor and the silence set him on edge. He knew he was supposed to stay behind with Groot and guard the stone, but the idea that his friends were out there fighting for their lives made that a difficult order to follow.

Groot, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms whatsoever. The teenage tree had become petrified wood. Bruce would have thought he had entered one of his photosynthesis stages if his big, brown eyes weren’t wide open, staring obsessively at the Soul Stone.

“ _So_ ,” Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly. “How do you think it’s going out there?”

“I am Groot.”

“Yeah,” the scientist sighed, heavy gaze dragging back to the steel door, “me too.”

Pursing his lips, he twiddled his thumbs and his leg jiggled more. He glanced back at Groot. 

Groot continued staring at the stone.

“You know, if you don’t breathe, you’ll die,” Bruce tried to smile but Groot didn’t respond. The tree held his post, not tearing his eyes away from it for an instant.

Then—

“I am _Groot_.”

* * *

Steve had no idea how Natasha had made it look so easy.

He remembered the Battle of New York. He remembered the haze of flying Chitauri, the columns of smoke billowing out from the burning buildings. He remembered using his shield to give the spy the boost she needed to hop onto the back of the Chitauri chariot; he remembered watching her take control of the machine like she had flown it her entire life. 

It was nothing like how he zigged and zagged his way through the first one hundred feet of air, more unsteady than a newborn giraffe.

Even now, the chariot wobbled under his weight. He kept adjusting, trying to find the right balance, motor revving beneath him, eyes locked on the looming warship above. The smoke in the air was thick and tasted like ash, but it gave Steve the cover he needed. Wind rushed around him, pulling at his limbs with clammy hands, making his eyes squint and water. Circling around the back, he avoided the tail-end of Chitauri pouring out of the open side panel like mad hornets.

Below, Peter was just a splash of color in a bombed-out field, whirring red and blue. The kid wouldn’t last long. None of them would, not unless they brought down this ship.

Not unless _he_ brought down this ship.

He had no idea how he was going to do it, but he knew he had to be quick.

Nearing the entrance, bloody knuckles reached for the spear he had pried out of a dead Chitauri’s hands, his eyes hard and bright and gleaming. He sucked in a deep breath and before he had time to really stop and think about it, Steve flew inside. 

Darkness swallowed him whole.

For a breathless moment, he was utterly blinded. Even the serum couldn’t make his eyes adjust fast enough. 

And then the entire world became a burst of movement.

On instinct, he used the bulk of his weight to yank the chariot to the side, metal screeching, hot sparks exploding as the machine skid across the landing. Steve crouched atop the fallen chariot, riding it like a surfboard. Two blasts flew past him, the heat scorching his skin, coming within inches of striking home, and then someone or some _thing_ let out a thundering roar.

He shot blindly in the direction of the sound, jumping off the chariot before it slammed into a wall with a loud _crunch_.

There were blasts coming from the control station ahead, a small pentagon-shaped room surrounded by thick glass and steel. Steve dropped the spear and sprinted towards it, brows pulled low, his mouth grim. 

He knew where to start.

The door to the control station flung open, cracking hard against the wall with a bounce, and three Chitauri rushed out. Steve had momentum on his side; he plowed straight through the aliens—like a lawn mower pulverizing a patch of grass. His knee collided into the chest of the first one, feeling their ribcage invert and cave in before they flew back ten feet into a steel beam, body snapping the opposite direction with a sickening _thwack_. As for the other two, their bones shattered beneath the vibranium shields on his fists, blood spraying the air, covering him like a spring rain.

The last Chitauri inside the control station snapped its head up, meeting Steve’s burning gaze through the thick glass. He walked calmly towards the door, holding the creatures gaze. His footsteps echoed too loudly on the floor and rang throughout the claustrophobic hangar. Everything here was steel or stone; his boots thumped without regret or shame or tact.

He reached the door and the creature swiveled in a large chair, its hideous mouth ajar, beady eyes wild and laced with fear.

Steve had seen the look before. This was a creature that knew it was about to die. 

It fumbled for a button, some kind of alarm, Steve guessed, but he kept approaching, his steps heavy—on a goddamn warpath. 

_Thwack_.

Its neck snapped under his hands with a sharp twist. The creature fell forward, slumping over the control board. 

Silence.

Steve’s heart was sprinting, blood buzzing in his veins; his entire body felt hot and electric. Like he could tear this ship apart with his bare fucking hands. 

It was a goddamn _rush_.

Grabbing the collar of the dead Chitauri, he shoved him off the chair ignoring the dead-weight _thump_ its body made as it hit the ground. His eyes scanned the control board, roving back and forth, catching his breath with quiet pants. It was littered with buttons and toggles and screens and a language he was completely unfamiliar with. 

He had no fucking clue what he was even looking at.

_It appears to run on some kind of electricity._

In a bright flash of clarity, Steve remembered how useless he was with these sorts of situations—he might feel like he could rip this fucking place apart, but in reality, Tony would have been a better option. Hell, even the kid.

But they weren’t here. 

He was. 

And so, Steve did the only thing he could think of.

Baring his teeth, he slammed the pointed tip of both shields into the center of the control panel with a sound he had never quite heard himself make. White hot tendrils of electricity rushed out to meet his fists, skittering over the vibranium shields. The metal moaned and he pulled back and smashed his fists into the panel again and again and again until it cracked and gave way, collapsing inward like a great crater.

And Steve kept hitting it, was unable to stop once he started. He didn’t register the way that the lights had long gone dead, that simmering fury—the capped volcano—that lived in the center of his chest erupted. He tore at the dead wires with his bare hands, ignoring the way they ripped open the pads of his fingers. Blood smeared on a jagged piece of metal and Steve yanked on it until it came free. He snapped the warped casing right off the top, breaking it over his thigh. His knuckles and palms and beds of his fingernails were bleeding and that volcano bubbled over, molten lava sliding under his skin. He was burning alive; he wanted to fucking _scream_ until his throat turned inside out.

Gasping, he ripped himself away from the obliterated control panel, his chest heaving for air like a racehorse.

Steve was shaking. Shaking all over and he couldn’t put words to it, what was happening. He didn’t have time to search for the explanation, not like Darcy would have searched.

He suddenly went still, those words ringing dully in his head. 

He didn’t have time. 

He didn’t have time. He didn’t have time with Darcy, with Bucky, with—with them. He didn’t have fucking _time_.

Heart thudding, pulsing in his temple, his neck, through every vein in his body, Steve gulped in air and ran his tongue over his chapped bottom lip. Panic mixed with fury and fear, and Steve let himself feel it—feel what he buried every goddamn day since he rose up from the ice, feel what he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since the moment he sent Bucky and Darcy away. He let his eyes go wide and ran his hands through his tangled hair, bending at the waist and clenching at the roots and staring out into the hollow hangar of a fucking alien warship that he had dove headfirst into without a single way to call for backup. His stomach clenched and his blood ran cold, the once freely flowing lava solidifying into hardened rock in his veins and he shook once, like he had been struck across the face. 

He didn’t have time.

And suddenly he was so _angry_. Because if he didn’t have time with them, then he sure as hell didn’t have time for this fucking meltdown. Baring his teeth like an animal, his bloody fingers curled into fists, tendons stretching white over his knuckles. He forced himself back under control by sheer fucking will.

And if there was one thing that Steven Grant Rogers had plenty of, it was that.

Exhaling explosively, he rolled his neck, cracking it. There were actions to be taken, so he walked back out into the hangar and picked up the fallen spear, hefting its weight in his hands.

Because he wasn’t done yet.

Steve knew there had to be a bigger control center, an engine room. He just had to find it.

* * *

“How much further?”

The second the words left her mouth, she winced. Darcy was wholly aware of how much she resembled a child whining to their parent while on a long road trip.

Amused, Bucky slanted a look her way, “What, you need to pee or somethin’?”

“Uh, no,” Darcy made a face at him and the corner of his lips tugged upwards. “I just was wondering.”

“Mm,” he nodded, keeping his eyes on the road as they passed by a rest stop. “We’ve still got a bit to go.”

Darcy eyed him, waiting and lifting both brows, but he revealed nothing more about their destination. Not that she really expected him to. The man had been weirdly secretive when it came to their plans. She didn’t entirely understand why he felt the need to keep her in the dark if she was going to be with him the whole time. It was… frustrating to say the least.

Sighing, she shifted in her seat, ignoring the uncomfortable springs poking through the obscenely thin cushion beneath her. They had dumped Tony’s car as soon as they reached the outskirts of the first town they passed through. In exchange, Bucky had stolen an older Chevy truck out of an abandoned bowling alley parking lot with a frightening kind of ease. Darcy remembered months ago wondering who in the world taught Captain America how to hotwire a car.

Well, now she was pretty sure she knew exactly who.

Oddly enough, it had never crossed her mind to question whether it had been _Steve_ who taught Bucky.

Steve who had flipped her entire world upside down. Steve who had been the first man to ever tell her that he loved her and mean it. Steve who was back at the Compound fighting off Thanos. Steve who might not sur—

_No, no, no. Don’t go there, Darcy._

She shoved that thought away as harshly as she could, her throat closing in a tight fist. A cold kind of fear coiled up in her belly, making her nauseous. While it was impossible _not_ to think about Steve, she could focus on other things— _needed_ to focus on other things that wouldn’t drive her mad with terror.

Things like: _where the hell are we going?_

“Not to be an ass,” Darcy started suddenly, nearly shouting, and then stopped. She flushed bright red, blinking in surprise at the volume of her own voice. Bucky’s gaze snapped to her. “But can you please at least tell me where we’re headed? My anxiety is going a bit haywire right now.”

He seemed to think about that for a long moment, and then doubled down and shrugged. “Somewhere safe.”

_Somewhere safe. Somewhere unlike where Steve was._

Darcy huffed, angrily scrubbing her hand over her nose, as if she could rub away the intrusive thoughts by sheer will. Her eyes screwed shut and then popped open and she pressed further, motioning impatiently with her hands, “Somewhere safe… like?”

“An old place I used to go when I needed to lay low,” Bucky evaded the probing, lifting a single brow in her direction.

For a long moment, she just looked at the man, his words a match and her entire being a pool of gasoline. Grinding her teeth, Darcy’s glare bore holes into the side of his head, but Bucky kept driving, one hand on the wheel, as if he didn’t even notice. That hollowed out, ice cavern look was creeping back in his eyes and rationally, she recognized the mask belonging to the Winter Soldier, but she was beyond rational thinking.

“Ok _ay_ ,” she drew out the word, frustration flaring when panic started to pull at the edges of her vision, her heart, her mind. “Fine,” Darcy muttered. “Don’t tell me shit.”

Mulishly, she crossed her arms and turned away from him, flicking her eyes to the window, staring at the passing scenery. Bucky wasn’t able to drive nearly as fast in this truck as he did in Tony’s car. The old engine was also considerably louder but Darcy didn’t mind, she focused on that hum, letting it drown out any other coherent thought because if she pictured the look on Steve’s face one more time as he screamed for her to leave him behind, or if she heard that stupid fucking voice slither through her mind calling her name, tugging her towards the stone, she might lose her mind.

Or break down and sob.

Both of which were the last thing they needed, especially with the world going to absolute shit. She needed to be strong, like both Bucky and Steve were clearly able to be, and the fact that she wasn’t brought her a deep kind of shame. She was nothing like the two of them.

Not only was her body deteriorating, but she was all over the fucking map emotionally. Fucking typical.

In the window’s reflection, Bucky was watching her. She could feel his gaze, the little side glances he tossed her way, growing increasingly concerned, but Darcy couldn’t bring herself to turn and face him. Not with the way her eyes were hot and watering, filling to the brim and ready to spill with one harsh blink.

Bucky shook his head suddenly, sharply, like he was trying to clear his mind, cursing under his breath, and then louder—“Hey, Darce? Sunshine? Look at me, honey. Please.”

It took a minute for his request to register in her mind and when they finally did, she sniffed wetly and turned to Bucky, brows pinching together and lifting in the middle. 

Gray eyes met hers. The coldness that had been creeping over the man like growing ivy melted into a cool rain puddle. Bucky’s voice, when he spoke, was careful. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark. I… it’s hard for me. I’m not doin’ it to be cruel. I’m used to doing this alone, y’know? Not with someone who—”

“—is a liability—”

“—I care about.” Bucky finished. Knuckles whitened over the steering wheel and she watched his chest rise as he inhaled deeply. His face screwed up. “Don’t say that.”

“Say what?” She laughed bitterly, wiping at her eyes before they could betray her. “The truth? You know that I’m dead weight here. The weak link.”

 _Between the three of us_ , was the unspoken words on her tongue but they rang loud and clear in her mind, hanging by a string in the air around them.

“No,” Bucky cut in quickly, voice sharp as a knife. It sliced through the air, cutting through the cloud Darcy had created around herself. He was staring hard at the road, looking very pissed. “Don’t go putting a lie like that in my mouth,” his eyes flicked to her, heavy enough to pin her in place. “Even if it feels like truth to you, if it’s not something I said with my own tongue, then don’t assume it’s what I’m thinking. Because I can guarantee you it’s not. You’re _not_ weak and I don’t want to hear you say something like that again.”

Stunned and thoroughly scolded, Darcy’s lips parted. She went still in her seat, staring at him with wide eyes. When she didn’t respond, everything about the man became firm, unyielding.

“I mean it, Darce. You’re not gonna tear yourself apart with your words in my presence. I don’t stand for that shit and I know Steve’s not the type to either.”

A beat of silence.

“Does that go both ways?” She asked. Bucky frowned, confused, and she tried again. “If I don’t get to talk shit about myself then neither do you or Steve.”

Bucky held her gaze for as long as he could before turning back to the road, a small grin cracking on his lips. “Yeah, okay, it goes both ways…” and then he seemed to think about it and his grin spread across his whole face. “Or three-ways, I guess.”

Darcy blushed, images of a very _different_ type of three-way flooding her mind unbidden.

Ducking her head, she rolled her lips over her teeth and sucked on them. The tips of her ears burned, like someone was holding a torch to them. As if he could read her mind, Bucky’s gaze landed back on her, drinking her in, eyes sparkling with a twinge of mischief. His fixation made her shift in her seat, shoulders lifting to her ears, teeth digging into her plump bottom lip.

“Hold each other to it?” Bucky prompted suddenly and her head snapped back up. He was waiting, brows lifting, expectant.

Darcy nodded softly.

“Good. I’d shake your hand to seal the deal, but…”

Bucky trailed off and Darcy huffed out a humorless laugh. She itched to latch onto his arm but given that his left side was on the opposite side of the car and completely out of reach, she had to make do with fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

Silence fell after that and it wasn’t uncomfortable, just… heavy. There was no real reprieve, even in their joking, the weight of reality loomed overhead, weighing down on Darcy’s chest. Her mind was tugged in a thousand different directions, like an autumn leaf blowing in the wind, unable to settle. 

It was another hour before they reached the next city and Bucky finally pulled them to a stop. The sun was shining; Darcy guessed it was about noon from the way her stomach rumbled. She didn’t know what city they were in, but the suburban feel put her at ease. They parked in front of a row of simple townhouses, white with royal blue roofing, locked together on a two-story grid.

Bucky cut the engine and got out without a word, jogging over to the garage marked forty-two-oh-one. She watched as he entered in a passcode in the keypad and the garage door groaned, rolling back to reveal a spotless interior and a single door leading inside.

He gave her a signal to wait in the car and she nodded while he slipped inside, most likely to do some kind of sweep of the place. 

Sighing, Darcy laid her head against the cool window. The summer sun was piercing, making her squint in its brightness, and soon a familiar exhaustion slipped through her veins. Her eyes slid shut, each individual eyelash carrying a weight tugging them down.

There was no sound but her own heavy, rapidly slowly inhales and exhales. Inky darkness bled into the corners of her mind. Darcy groaned and shifted, the seatbelt tugging against her neck.

The darkness grew, an oil spill seeping into a quiet sea.

She was being pulled under, phantom fingers wrapped around her ankles and wrists, dragging her deeper. Her eyes rolled in her head.

A sea of glass, a sky that blazed like fire itself, a whisper of a thousand voices: _I see you. You cannot hide from me._

She gasped awake, the fiery amber of the Soul Stone tattooing itself in her mind, bright and burning, as jolting as a bolt of lightning. Around her, the suburban neighborhood was calm, steady, and empty. Still, goosebumps rose along her skin despite the heat of the day and each individual hair on the back of her neck lifted to the sky.

_I see you._

A shiver rolled through her like a growing storm cloud over a desert plain. Paranoia licked at her skin, tugging at it, _yanking_ on it.

 _Run_ , her mind begged. _Run, Darcy. RUN!_

Knuckles sounded against the window next to her head and Darcy whirled around, the old truck rocking. Her stomach jumped so high up her throat that she thought it might spill out of her mouth as she screamed bloody murder.

Bucky raised both hands, eyes wide with surprise. When it registered in her terrified mind that it was him and not… not something else, she fell back into her seat, deflating like a dying balloon. 

“Oh god,” she wheezed, shaking terribly, her breath hitching in her throat. “Oh god.”

The door swung open, but Darcy kept her gaze on the ceiling of the truck, lips parted, chest heaving for air, her pulse pounding. A warm summer breeze washed over her, tendrils of fresh air curling into the cab of the old truck and she sucked in that oxygen like she was dying.

 _Oh, right,_ she thought suddenly, bitterly, horrifically, _I am dying._

Panic and despair laced her blood, flooding each and every vein, mapping a path through her limbs straight to her heart. Her face crumpled, lashes clumping together when twin streaks of tears slipped down her temples into her hair. 

“Whoa, Darcy,” Bucky called, his voice inexplicably soft (and afraid?). “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“’M’fine,” she said (she wasn’t), pressing the heel of her left hand into her eyes before looking up at Bucky. “I’m okay,” her voice choked.

His face was pale and pinched in concern, gaze darting over her. And then it must have dawned on him and his expression changed, shifting into something too familiar, too soft, and too understanding. “Was it the stone?”

Darcy didn’t even bother denying it. She just nodded. He blurred as her eyes filled with tears again. 

_All the king’s horses and all the king’s men._

She tried to put herself together again, she tried to fix herself, she wanted to—

There was a click as her seatbelt unbuckled. Darcy felt it loosen around her waist and across her chest, rolling back into place near the door. Bucky’s bulk shifted back and if Darcy was able to feel anything at all, she would have yelled at him for getting too close, for being stupid enough to come anywhere near her with this goddamn spell. But she couldn’t. 

All she could do was sit there, feeling not wholly present in her body. Until finally, she croaked out, “Am I going crazy?”

The question surprised her, not the content of it, because it had been planted deep in the recesses of her mind ever since Loki told her about what awaited her as a stonekeeper. What surprised her was that she had allowed the question to leave her lips in the first place. It wasn’t the type of thing she would casually ask, it was tender and raw, like the skin around an infected wound. For weeks the question had grown, festering in the darkness, becoming bigger and stronger and more powerful as it fed on every insecurity. Its strength came from the fear that it was true: that she was losing her mind, losing control, losing the very essence of who she was.

And yet… here she was, baring such a vulnerable thing for James Buchanan Barnes.

The dark-haired man had fallen quiet for a long moment, expression solemn, and then he answered simply, calmly, “No.”

He didn’t say anything more, didn’t elaborate, didn’t act shocked by her question. He just answered her fear, plain and simple. Because Bucky _understood_ what it was like to question his own mind.

And so, when he told her no, Darcy found that she believed him. Even if she couldn’t believe it for herself. It was a small comfort.

“Can you walk?” Bucky asked suddenly, ducking his head down so he caught her gaze. He lifted his brows, waiting, and Darcy nodded. “Alright, let’s get you inside.”

Darcy fumbled her way down from the cab of the truck, Bucky hovering as close as he could without touching her. But when her legs buckled in protest, stars flitting in and out of her vision, he shifted forward. 

Cool metal gripped under her elbow, holding her steady with considerable strength. Darcy’s eyes flew open at the contact, her world tilting.

“You sure you can walk?” He asked again, looking doubtful.

Darcy waited until the dizzy spell passed and when her head cleared, she inhaled a lungful of air and nodded, wetting her lips. Her voice was ragged, “Yeah, I’m good. Think I just need to eat something.”

He eyed her for a long moment, weighing her words. That metal hand—that _anchor_ —left her elbow and slid down the underside of her forearm until he reached her palm. Darcy’s heart stupidly skipped a beat when he purposefully interlaced their fingers, tugging her toward the house. She stumbled behind him, half-tripping, and he slowed his pace even further. Bucky didn’t comment on the death grip she had on him.

In fact, he squeezed right back.

And she fucking gasped. She hadn’t meant to, felt embarrassed about it, what with her head being so fuzzy. Still, she blushed, thankful that Bucky didn’t acknowledge the sound as they walked through the nearly sterile garage. Her focus was solely on the hand intertwined with her own, not on her surroundings, not on the panic attack (was that what it was?), but on him, his solid strength grounding her, tethering her to the earth. His hand wasn’t made of flesh, she knew that, but her body didn’t seem to register the difference. Even if his skin didn’t give way, even if it had ridges and plates that wouldn’t be there otherwise, the conscious act of someone touching her had her heart expanding so big it threatened to bust her ribs open.

It had been _so_ fucking long.

Bucky led her into the house, cool air wafting over their clammy skin. The place was pristine, like a model home—fully furnished but lacking any form of life or personality. The floor was all tile with a modest living room that connected to a small kitchen. To her left was a narrow hallway with a closed door. Next to it, a staircase leading to the second level where she assumed the bedrooms were.

“Why don’t you go sit down?” Bucky suggested quietly, motioning to the couch.

She nodded but didn’t move.

“Darce?”

Blinking rapidly, Darcy tilted her head up and met Bucky’s searching gaze. His eyes were soft; a warm metal thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist, tender as a first kiss.

She shivered. Bucky watched the whole thing, eyes roving over her every expression, and then he wet his lips and did it again. That thumb swept over her pulse once more and her heart leapt, beating soundly in response.

Wrinkles fanned out at the corner of Bucky’s eyes as his gaze softened even further. “You’re gonna need to let go of my hand now, Sunshine. I have to go get our things out of the truck.”

Stupidly, Darcy just stared at him, not comprehending and then Bucky slid his eyes down to their joined hands and she realized that at some point she had latched onto his metal hand with both of hers, nearly strangling it.

Eyes rounding, Darcy swallowed heavily and forced herself to let go of him with a flush of embarrassment. Her voice was hoarse, “Sorry, I—”

“Hey,” Bucky cut her off. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain a thing,” he told her gently, reaching for her before he seemed to hesitate, his left hand hovering over her skin. Silver glinted dully in the light. Gray eyes flicked back and forth between her own and Darcy thought, for a moment, that he looked nervous.

And then a curled knuckle brushed down over the apple of her cheek in the lightest of touches. Her eyes slid shut on their own accord, her body humming in response. Darcy’s mouth parted with a sigh. She couldn’t stop herself from nuzzling his hand until the corner of her mouth met metal.

She heard Bucky swallow. 

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured, his voice more of a caress than anything else. 

“Sure,” Darcy breathed, her eyes fluttering open.

The look in Bucky’s eyes was bare and searching, flicking over her face. His pulse jumped in his throat and Darcy realized he had yet to pull his hand away from her face. A single finger continued brushing up and down the curve of her cheek, memorizing the angle.

Outside, a car alarm went off.

It hit them, like a brick through a window. Jumping back, Darcy yelped and Bucky’s gaze flashed to the window, his eyes frosting over almost instantly, and he moved toward it swiftly, pulling a gun from his waist. 

Sunlight poured in when he flicked the curtain back an inch, peering through it. After a long second, Bucky’s shoulders untensed. “It’s just the neighbors.”

Darcy released her breath watching him lift his t-shirt and stuff his gun down the back of his jeans once more, tugging on the material to cover the black handle resting in the small of his back. Rolling his neck, Bucky spun around.

“Alright, you wait here while I go unload.”

“Okay,” Darcy shuffled over to the couch, her legs shaking as she sat down. They felt weak, like her muscles were atrophying, which made no sense since she had been sitting in the car for half of the day.

She could feel Bucky’s eyes on her, dissecting each miniscule expression or movement, and then—

“Listen, I know this place isn’t much—”

“It’s fine,” Darcy argued, and Bucky’s mouth snapped shut. 

He quirked a brow at her, pointing as he spoke. “Kitchen is in here, it should be stocked with the basics. But for now,” he wandered over to the pantry and peered inside, digging his hand into a box. A wrapper crackled in the air. Pulling out a dreaded protein bar, Bucky glanced at it and nodded, bringing it over to her. “Eat that until we can get some lunch,” he instructed, catching the way Darcy wrinkled her nose at the chalky brick in her hand. He gave her a flat look, “ _Eat_. It’s good for you and you need the meal replacement. You’re lucky I’m not making you eat two of them. Now, bathroom is down the hall through that door. The bed is upstairs—”

“Bed?” Darcy’s head snapped up, frowning. “As in… just one?”

There was a long moment of silence and it was a slow thing, the way that Bucky’s lips curled in understanding. 

“Don’t worry,” his words were one big, teasing grin. “I won’t be sleeping. Not at this stop anyway. Besides… with the spell…”

Darcy’s mouth twisted at the mention of her situation.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Bucky chuckled, his eyes dancing from across the room. “If you _really_ wanted to get me in bed, Sunshine, you’d just have to—”

“Don’t you have a truck to unload?”

Bucky stopped, his lips split open in a wide smile, shiny teeth distracting as hell (or maybe it was the way his eyes lit up like a cloud speckled in sunlight?). Darcy watched him warily, heart pounding, as the man sauntered her way, brushing past her spot on the couch with only a few inches between them.

“As you wish,” Bucky murmured, his voice low and gravely and Darcy felt it in her goddamn _toes_.

The second he was out the garage door, she all but dropped her head between her legs and groaned, protein bar long forgotten in her hands. And then she began to laugh, a quiet, breathy, exhausted kind of laugh—one of near disbelief.

“How the hell am I supposed to handle two of them?”

* * *

Steam curled through the air when she stepped out of the shower. Rivulets of water ran down her skin, pooling on the mat under her feet. Darcy swiftly snagged a towel from the back of the door. Her wet hair clung to her back and shoulders and she squeezed as much moisture from it as she could before wrapping the towel back around her body.

After Bucky finished unloading the car, she had taken a hot shower, standing under the spray for a long time, letting the water pound on her chest, and the steam work its way through her tense muscles. She had forced her mind to go blank, tried not to think about anything at all but how good the heat felt flowing over her skin, inhaling deeply over and over again. By the time she was done, her muscles had loosened in a sleepy kind of relaxation. 

The mirror was fogged over and she swiped over it with her hand until she could see her wet reflection staring back at her. 

She looked like a complete stranger.

It was an incredibly odd thing, to miss yourself. Darcy felt a pang of longing for the girl she’d been; the old Darcy would have been grinning and belting songs to an audience of shampoo bottles, and this new Darcy was hard and silent and raw. The angles on her face were sharp, her eyes muted, not to mention, her right arm looked like it had been in a fight with a garbage disposal and lost. It wasn’t as jarring as it had been initially, the scars littering her skin, but it was still another thing that had changed—another thing she would never get back. 

She was thinner than she had ever been and the old Darcy had spent time each week trying, unsuccessfully, to keep the extra curves at bay. But looking at herself now, she thought that she preferred the fullness to this.

The two people sat inside of her, conflicting, and she decided that, for the next five minutes, she could be the old Darcy.

It started with a hum. 

Her voice wasn’t the best to begin with, not that it had ever stopped her from a solid karaoke night before, but the way it rasped now, garbled almost, had her dissolving into laughter. She hadn’t even gotten a word of the song out yet and already she was off-key. What made it funnier was that she knew Bucky could hear her and she could only imagine the look on his face right now, listening to her butcher an attempt at singing between little fits of laughter.

Running her hands quickly through her hair, she winced as they caught on a tangle or two and then tugged it all back into a braid, struggling to breathe through her hums and giggles.

“Maybe I am losing it, after all,” she snorted to herself before letting the towel fall to the ground and pulling on her clothes.

Once she was dry and dressed, she hurried out of the bathroom. Bucky must have had the air-conditioning on; cool air slammed into her like a brick wall and she shivered, padding back into the living room.

Bucky was in the kitchen, lips quirked as he carefully sliced up a sandwich. Gray eyes darted up, deeply amused, and Darcy realized then that she was still humming.

“Feel better?” He prompted, sliding a paper plate towards her.

Darcy took the sandwich he offered and nodded, nibbling at the edge of it. Three others were piled on another plate for himself. She watched him work with quiet efficiency, sliding onto the stool just under the lip of the counter.

There was an old satellite phone sitting on counter next to Bucky. It was a hulking device, more like a brick than anything else. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. 

“Did…” she started, voice muffled around her mouthful of bread. “Were you able to reach them?”

Bucky went still, eyes darting up to her face and then down to the phone beside him and his lips thinned. “No,” he sighed. “Nothing.”

“Do you think the comms are still down?”

He just nodded, saying nothing more, and Darcy’s heart sunk to her feet.

“Oh,” she lifted her brows, trying to keep her voice purposefully light. “Okay.”

A lump sat in her throat, filling with hot liquid until she couldn’t breathe around it. She stared down at her forgotten sandwich, numb. Her breath shook and Darcy tried her hardest to get a fucking grip. Especially when she felt Bucky’s gaze on her.

 _Don’t you dare cry again, Darcy Lewis_ , she admonished herself harshly.

“I’m sorry,” she eventually managed, keeping her gaze lowered and locked on the counter. Her lips trembled even as they twisted in a bitter kind of smile. “You’ve got to be sick of me by now.”

A metal finger tucked under her chin and a jolt went through her. She allowed Bucky to lift her gaze to meet his.

“What put that thought in your head?” He was shaking his head, confusion and worry coloring his tone. “I’m right here, ain’t I? And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“You could.”

Bucky went very still and his mouth fell open slightly. His eyes quickly darted back and forth between hers and he didn’t respond right away looking utterly baffled. 

“You could leave and go to Steve and help,” Darcy said, her voice shaking, desperate, shoulders hunching up. Words were flying out of her mouth and she couldn’t stop them. “I can stay here, get by on my own.”

She watched as about five different expressions passed over Bucky’s face before something very raw entered his eyes. The light grip he had on her chin left and then he was walking out of the kitchen and around the counter to her. Darcy spun on the stool, wide-eyed, as he approached. 

He reached for her hand, tugging her off of the stool, voice gruff, “Come with me.”

It was all Darcy could do to stumble after him, their meal forgotten. He brought her over to the couch and pointed at it, the instruction clear. She sank into the cushions, eyes trained on him, her fingers holding onto his prosthetic with a white-knuckled grip.

Bucky sat a little further away, facing her, close enough that she could still keep a hold on him and before Darcy knew what she was doing, she had enveloped his hand in both of hers again, running her fingers over the smoothness.

And he let her.

Finally, after what felt like a very long time, Bucky exhaled, “I’m not leaving you.”

Her mind flashed to Steve, to the desperation in his scream, begging them to run—begging them to leave him. Her heart clenched.

“Please.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, mouth tightening. “I made a promise, Darcy Lewis,” his eyes snapped to hers and they were like armor piercing bullets, “and I don’t go back on my word. _Ever_.”

His voice was an edict and Darcy shook, her hands stilling over his. She held his gaze until he became blurry in her vision, tears welling.

“Maybe you’ve forgotten,” Bucky began again, his voice steely, “but there’s three of us, you know. Steve and I aren’t leaving you out in the cold. I _want_ to be here, with you. I chose this.”

Darcy blinked, unable to break away from his gaze. A single tear slipped down her cheek, quick as a shooting star. His words settled under her skin, wrapping around her bones, seeping into her marrow. 

“I chose this.” Bucky said again, softer, quieter, truer, and they both knew he meant more than just protecting her. His throat worked and he stared down at her and Darcy swore that he was seeing straight into her soul. 

A light in the center of her chest began to glow, so bright that it illuminated everything within her for just a breath of a moment. She breathed in and his chest rose at the same moment, breathing with her, this tentative, fragile truth hovering between them.

“Bucky,” she murmured and she didn’t know what she was going to say because all that go out was his name. All that mattered was his name. “ _Bucky_.”

Slowly, carefully, his hand pulled out from between hers. Her brows pulled together and her lips parted as that hand lifted and hovered before carefully, exquisitely, cradling the side of her face.

Bucky wet his lips, staring at her like she was a revelation, his gaze softening in deep affection, “I choose this.”

She heard it, the shift, the change, like a piece of a puzzle finally sliding into place and it echoed in her soul, making it sing a sweet melody. 

Darcy leaned into his touch.

His fingers boldly slid into her hair, touching the ridge of her ear. His thumb ran down her cheek and she didn’t close her eyes and he didn’t tilt her head up or move his down. They simply watched one another.

Slowly, Darcy’s hands rose, and she grasped his metal wrist, not pulling him away, but simply holding on because she was certain she was about to float away.

Bucky had all but stopped breathing, his eyes sliding down to the way she clutched at him, and she ducked her head slightly. His hand slid away, falling to her lap where he allowed her mold it and maneuver it however she wished.

He didn’t say anything for a long time and Darcy’s eyes traced the individual plates and ridges before her fingertips followed the same intricate path. When she turned his hand over and brushed over his palm, metal fingers twitched slightly, like he was ticklish.

Her eyes darted up, cheeks red. “Sorry,” she scrunched her nose and dropped his hand. It fell to her knee. “I don’t mean to be obsessive.”

“I’m not complainin’,” Bucky admitted in a hushed tone. His brows furrowed in thought. “It’s just strange. I’ve never… had someone take comfort in this part of me. Never really let anyone touch my arm much, outside of what’s necessary. But…” he paused here, eyes flashing to hers, bright and clear, a strange little smile playing about his lips, “you’re different. You used to do this in my dreams.”

Startled, Darcy froze.

“What?”

That smile stayed, playing about his lips. He placed his hand back in hers and Darcy took it, fingers automatically resuming their exploration of it. It was something that, for the life of her, she wouldn’t have been able to stop. She was so hungry for contact and Bucky’s offering was like a cool glass of water to her parched soul.

“I know we don’t talk about it much, but when I was in the stone, I could hear you sometimes,” Bucky murmured, his voice sounding far off, like he was recalling the story an old friend told him once. His eyes were glued to the way Darcy twisted and untwisted his fingers, smoothing over his thumb, trailing along the inside of his wrist. “Your voice… it was almost like a prayer. Mostly talkin’ to me about Steve in that sweet way of yours. Then when you pulled me out, I started dreaming about you from the very first night and…” Bucky swallowed, his voice a mere whisper. “And every night since. We would be back in the stone, somehow, but it was different because I wasn’t alone. You were there, beside me. You would play with my hand—the left one—like you are now. And you would smile, the kind where your nose scrunches. The kind that means you’re really happy. Who knows, maybe I got the sight or somethin’,” he grinned, boyish and almost shy, peering up at her through his dark lashes.

Stunned, Darcy stared at him, her brows coming together and lifting in the middle, heart lurching. Carefully, she chose her next words.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s real.” 

A few of the lines around Bucky’s eyes deepened. “What do you mean?”

“The two of you,” she admitted softly, and then clarified even quieter, “but especially you.”

There were more words on the tip of her tongue, hanging there, delicate and unsure, like a baby bird edging out of its nest to test fragile wings. Her heart raced and Bucky stayed silent, as if he could tell she was struggling to speak. 

Vulnerability was an uncomfortable thing but it was also a brave thing, or so she had been told. And truth, at times, could be a very vulnerable thing.

Darcy didn’t feel particularly brave when she finally spoke; her voice was small but it was also very true.

“Bucky, talking to you on those nights in the safe house, before the stone, it—it kept me sane. Even if you never answered back, I could just go up on the roof, find your star, and lay myself bare. I always felt like you were listening, and it… it gave me hope. _You_ gave me hope.”

There was a beat of silence and then Bucky made a noise in the back of his throat, a soft sound. She breathed in a shuddering breath and looked at him.

“You can still talk to me like that, if you want,” he offered tentatively, hopefully, cautiously. “Because I’m real, Darcy, and I’m right here.”

His words sank into her skin. Something in her moved, giving way to that same glowing warmth in her chest from before but now it spread like warm honey throughout her limbs; her eyes closed. A few minutes later, they opened and Darcy gazed up at the dark haired man and boldly lifted his left hand to her lips. Her eyes slid shut again as she kissed his knuckles softly. She kissed them, one hand at a time, lingering until the metal warmed against her lips.

He had all but stopped breathing.

Then Darcy was speaking, her voice quietly cracking with an emotion that she was trying very hard not to show.

“That night I pulled you from the stone,” She tilted her head back, staring at him, gaze raw and honest. “I didn’t plan it. It just… happened. It was the first night I dreamed about you, too, and I remember this urgent feeling, this desperation to find you, to bring you here. It’s like… it’s like a part of me understood that I needed you before I even met you. Like my soul cried out and you answered. I’ve been scared, you know. Scared that somehow this would all turn out to be one big joke, but now I see it. I think I’ve known for a long time but was just too afraid to examine it. I think—” Darcy hesitated, and her voice shook along with her heart, her breath stuck somewhere in her throat. “I think my heart belongs to Steve but you, _you_ are my soul.”

They fell quiet and he stared down at her, his eyes bright and the space between them _sang_. It sang like truth; a symphony she had been searching for her entire life. 

_I found you_ , it cried from before time even began itself. _I found the one whom my soul loves._

* * *

There was blood dripping down his face.

He could feel it, thick and warm, oozing down his skin, mixing with beads of sweat. Steve wiped his brow with his sleeve, panting. His back pressed hard against the wall, jagged rock catching on the material of his suit. His ears strained, listening for any sign of life. 

Silence.

Swallowing, Steve looked back at the trail of bodies littering the floor behind him. Limbs twisted at odd angles, skin mutilated and split open, bones jutting out of places they shouldn’t. He had killed at least thirty of them but not enough to make a dent.

He continued moving.

The entirety of this ship seemed to be steel arches and black jagged rock. It reminded him of the deep places of the earth, cavernous mines, airless and seeped in darkness. The labyrinth of hallways were wide with supporting columns and little alcoves that he could tuck himself into, disappearing completely in shadows.

The air was different here, too. Gone was the summer heat and in its place was a frigid kind of stillness. The cold stung his damp skin and threw Steve’s mind straight back into the ice.

A place he swore he would never go back in, and yet, here he was.

There was an intersection ahead, a four-way crossing, different hallways merging together, and he paused, slipping behind the lip of an arching column. Peering around the side, he glanced down the smaller path with dim lighting and debated seeing where that led. If he had any chance of finding the engine roo—

Footsteps.

Steve’s blood turned to ice. Boots thumped on the ground with considerable weight, solid and slow. He pressed flat against the wall, digging himself deeper into the corner, holding his breath. They were getting closer.

Swallowing, trying to wet his parched, sandpaper throat, Steve focused on the approaching steps. The alcove he was tucked into was small but the dimness of the ship created the perfect hiding spot. Inches from the tip of his boots was a boundary where light met darkness. He shuffled back another half an inch into the darkness, rising slightly onto his toes.

A hulking shadow appeared.

Steve’s eyes flew to it and then slowly slid up to the creature itself and his heart stopped.

 _Fuck_ , he thought, _oh fuck_.

It was easily ten feet tall with the muscle mass to match the Hulk, but beyond that, Steve realized that he knew this creature. He remembered seeing it before, huge and imposing, standing in front of Darcy months ago when they were searching for the pager. She had nearly talked the creature to death, her mouth spewing out every word her mind could possibly conjure to distract it. 

Seeing it again now, remembering how tiny Darcy had looked standing before it, the fear in her eyes, and Steve’s blood began to buzz, filling him with a blind sort of rage. It ballooned up, boiling to a spilling point.

The footsteps had stopped.

“What is it?”

A second being appeared, silent as a ghoul. The female, Steve remembered even better than the giant. He had fought her before, had tasted the sting of her attack. 

_Children of Thanos._

Both beings had gone still and Steve realized all too late that the giant was staring directly into the pitch-black alcove he was hiding in.

Flat, reptilian eyes swept over the space and Steve’s muscles tensed like a lion.

The silence was deafening, and Steve was shaking not just with fear or adrenaline, but something unnamable, something that felt like an unholy kind of fury. Everything in him wanted to leap from the shadows and obliterate the both of them, but he held back. He was already on a suicide mission; he didn’t need to end it prematurely.

There was a ship to bring down, after all.

After what felt like a century, the female smacked the giant in the belly, nodding her head sharply towards their original path. “Enough. Our Lord calls, we should not keep him waiting.”

A second passed and then two and then another four and finally they left, footsteps thumping deeper into the ship. 

Steve exhaled, body slumping. Relief was a tidal wave in his body. He waited a few minutes before slipping out of his hiding spot, his feet following the same path that the two Children of Thanos had taken. It led him to the edge of the command center, filled to the brim with Chitauri and other beings, each one of them silent and solemn.

In the center of the room was a hologram of Thanos himself. He sat upon a dark throne, the gauntlet glinting on his hand.

“No more games,” he warned in a voice like that of an ancient and cruel sea. “No more warnings or toying with our prey. I tire of waiting for them. Let us finish this once and for all and I will fetch my stone.”

“My Lord,” the female hesitated, “our own soldiers are down there, should we not—”

“Do it,” he ordered and then his image flickered away.

The two Children of Thanos looked at one another for a long moment and then she nodded, whirling around and snapping out the order to fire on the base.

Ducking back around the edge of the hallway, Steve panicked. Time was officially up, there was no searching for the engine room. They were going to die—Peter and Tony and Bruce and… _no_.

Steve’s eyes snapped open, violent blue, and his rage was a palpable thing in the air around him. No. He was going to end this, not Thanos.

Gripping the spear in his hand, Steve lifted it and placed his finger on the trigger. Leaning his head back against the wall, he inhaled, steadying himself. Something like fear choked him and for a split second, all he heard was a voice like Brooklyn— _Promise me, Steven. Promise me you won’t do something stupid and get yourself killed. Stay alive… for me and Darcy._

Steve exhaled, adrenaline rushing through his veins, flooding his system. His eyes burned and he sniffed once, a hot lump filling at the top of his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered to the surrounding darkness, his words barely a breath in the back of his throat. 

He thought of their smiles, of Darcy’s sweet kindness and Bucky’s quiet strength and his lips curled. Love filled him, not rage, not fear— _love_ and it gave him courage.

He leaned around the column, looking into the buzzing command center, eyes landing on the wide back of the giant. His first target.

Steve lifted the spear and took aim.

* * *

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, just a little closer—okay, not _that_ close! Too close, too close— _shit!_ ”

Tony yelped and sped up, body pin straight as he pierced through the sky, narrowly avoiding being gulped down by a goddamn space-whale. And oddly enough, it was not the first time in his life that he had been in this situation. 

The creature matched his speed, chasing him like the live bait that he was.

 _Perfect_.

“Let’s go visit a friend of yours, yeah?” He called out, grinning like a shark.

For ten minutes now he had led the creature on a merry chase, toying with it, slowing down enough to let it think it had a chance and then speeding up until it grew frustrated. Frustrated and foolish.

Foolish enough to follow Tony right into the collision course of a second oncoming leviathan.

Greedy fucking monsters.

“You know the plan, FRIDAY,” he said in a half-shout, avoiding a second swift chomp from the massive jaws of the creature on his tail. Tilting his gaze up, he locked onto the second swiftly approaching leviathan, placing it dead center in the crosshairs. His voice dropped low. “Let’s cause a scene. Increase speed one-hundred and sixty percent.”

“ _Increasing speed_.” 

The velocity rocked his body rocked back against the suit, fire erupting from his feet and hands, propelling him through the air like a human torpedo. 

FRIDAY’s voice floated in his ear, worried, “ _Sir, my calculations show that you need to angle your position now or it will be too la—_ ”

“Not yet,” Tony grimaced, teeth bared, eyes locked ahead. 

The oncoming leviathan pried open its mouth, jaws wider than a three-story house and razor sharp. A deep groan crawled out of the pit of its belly. The billionaire flew right towards it, dragging along the second space-whale behind him. 

Alarms began blaring, flashing red warnings, an impact imminent—“NOW!” He shouted. “Increase speed another twenty percent!”

Tony banked downward, cutting through the air like an Olympic high diver, the angle sharp, power exploding from the suit as he ducked beneath the jaws of the creature. His suit scraped along the underside of the monster, red and orange sparks flying, and above, two mountains collided.

It was like two trains derailing, the earth-shaking sound they made as they smashed together. Tony cried out, triumphant, his shout drowned out in the aftermath.

He watched, hovering to the side, as the two giants careened to the forest ground like a pair of meteors crashing to the earth. The ground concaved beneath them, trees collapsing, and flocks of birds took to the sky, screeching in fright as they flew away. 

Tony watched as the dust settled and the birds turned into nothing but tiny specks against the blue horizon. 

“FRIDAY,” the billionaire called out, his voice a dry rasp, still watching those birds fade into the distance, “status on the kid?”

“ _Mr. Parker has retreated to the hangar—_ ”

Tony blanched, whirling around to face the Compound. His eyes were wide as saucers. “What, why, is he hurt?”

“ _Aside from minor injuries, Mr. Parker is fine. He was becoming overwhelmed by the numbers_.” FRIDAY assured him.

“Where the hell is Cap?” Tony asked with a squint, the hot afternoon sun gleaming harshly against the metal he was encased in. “Isn’t he with the kid?” 

There was a long pause.

“ _Sir, you should know that Captain Rogers—_ ”

Tony never got to hear what FRIDAY was going to say.

Something slammed into his side at full speed, the blow like a speeding semi. Tony’s breath punched out of him, body lurching like a ragdoll at the force of impact. Something sharp wedged itself between the delicate plates along his neck, scraping against the thin skin, shoving him down faster than he could blink. 

He hit the top of the trees, branches snapping across his suit, cracking against the metal, leaves slapping over his face, blinding him completely. Whatever had hit him kept pushing him down with incredible momentum, relentless. He flailed, grunting and reaching to unlatch himself, but it was useless at this speed. 

Branches continued whipping past, steadily growing thicker and more painful with each blow. He couldn’t turn his head, there was a goddamn _spear_ sticking out of the side of his neck preventing that, and the further and faster they fell, the deeper the spear wedged itself until it was slicing the skin in a sharp stinging cut.

Scrambling for something, anything, Tony’s arms wind-milled—

And then he hit the tree.

It was a thick trunk, strong, roots digging down deep into the earth. It still snapped in half under the force of the impact. Tony’s head flung back, the spear slicing deeper into his skin, his skull connecting with the metal of his suit in a way that made him see nothing but blinding, white light.

His ears rang, his teeth had bit clean through his lip and blood gushed down his chin in hot rivulets. Gasping, his ribs screamed as he inhaled, pain so sharp it made him dizzy.

It took him a moment to realize that he had, at some point, hit the ground. He didn’t remember much after the tree and he didn’t know how he was suddenly lying flat on his back, but it was with a grunt that he managed to reach up and grab the protruding spear, using the strength of the suit to dislodge it from his neck.

It pulled loose with a firm tug, metal scraping against metal like nails on a chalkboard. And next to him, there was a wheezing kind of hiss—a final gasp of air. Frowning, Tony groaned and pushed his body up until he was sitting, hand on his aching ribs. 

Five feet away lay the Chitauri that had attacked him, body pinned halfway under his broken chariot. A large broken piece of a tree branch stuck out of its chest. It gasped and moaned, like it was breathing through a cheesecloth, limbs moving sluggishly, aimlessly.

It was dying.

Tony didn’t think twice, his mouth a bitter thing, before lifting his hand.

A sudden flash of white light, the Chitauri’s limbs twitched, and smoke wafted up from where its face once was. Now it was just a bloody hole of meat and bone and Tony didn’t give a damn.

He tried to get to his feet after that and it was a clumsy struggle, his ribs being his main concern (or maybe the fact that he was seeing double?). Baring his teeth, he cried out, his tongue feeling thick, “FRIDAY, body scan.” 

There was no answer, just the stillness of the woods around him. Sunlight streaked through the leaves and Tony couldn’t breathe. Pressing the button just under his jaw, the mask retreated, and the billionaire sucked in fresh air, mouth gaping open like a fish. He spit out a glob of blood and it splattered against the layer of pine needles covering the forest ground.

It continued to steadily drip from his mouth. Tony grimaced, gasping again, his words slurred. “FRIDAY, body scan.”

“ _Boss,”_ FRIDAY finally responded, but there was something in her voice that made Tony straighten. _“Something just entered the atmosphere_.”

"What? What do you..."

A shadow rolled over the forest like death itself; the air turned cold.

Tony’s dark eyes lifted to the sky, his body trembling with pain and horror, blood splattered along his jaw and neck. The sun disappeared entirely, blocked out by the gargantuan warship as it lowered, hovering just fifty feet above the tree line. Gleaming barrels groaned, shifted, cocking back to fire, and something deep inside of Tony whispered—

_This is it._

All he could do was stand there and wait. They had tried, they had tried so goddamn hard. He was a mechanic after all, it was his job to fix things, it was his _job_ , and he _tried_. He just hoped that somehow, it would be enough. That somehow the others would be able to fix what he couldn’t. 

Standing there in the forest, alone, waiting for the inevitable, an eerie sort of calm came over him and in those few seconds, Tony lived a thousand lifetimes. One he spent with Pepper, loving her the way she deserved, worshipping her; another with his mother, seeing her live out her years in peace and safety; yet another with a child—a little girl because he might have dreamed of having a boy but his heart ached for a baby girl even if he could never admit it. She would have his eyes and her mother’s kindness and she would be perfect.

And she would be his.

_Morgan._

He stared up at the ship, at the very core of his fear and nightmares and trauma, and all he saw was the baby girl he was never going to be able to have and he smiled.

_This is it._

* * *

Bucky was the sniper, not Steve, and it was Bucky’s instructions from the war that Steve remembered as he stepped out from behind the column, lifting the spear and took aim.

“ _You gotta be real calm when you do it. Don’t hold your breath for too long, your heart is gonna beat a lot faster if you do and that’ll fuck up your aim. It’s in that sweet moment between exhaling and inhaling, that space when the world goes real still and quiet. That’s when you take your shot._ ”

Inhale. His heart thumped like a war drum against his ribcage. Pause. A bead of sweat slipped down the ridge of his nose. Exhale. The pad of his finger slowly began to squeeze the trigger.

A blast knocked him backwards.

Steve's entire world erupted in blinding white light. A shout tore from his chest, his eyes wild and huge and seeing nothing but what had to be the core of a star itself, and then the next thing he knew, Steve was falling through an hole that had been ripped clean through the middle of the ship, drowning in open air.

He couldn’t see, body cartwheeling, blood gushing from his busted eardrums, the entire world ringing—like he was living inside of the Liberty Bell itself. Wind tore at him with sharp claws, his arms and legs flailed madly in the air. Steve’s chest locked in a blind terror just before he slammed into the tree line at a hundred miles an hour. His suit ripped, flesh stripping off his back deep into the muscle. A thick piece of branch cracked under him, slowing his fall, and then another, and another, both catching and breaking him all at once. Everything _hurt_ —but still, there was a moment, one single, flaming moment, when the fear in his lungs was overshadowed by the shape of _their_ love in Steve’s mind.

He hit the ground. 

* * *

Tony didn’t close his eyes, he wasn’t scared of death. Not anymore, after all, part of the journey was the end. 

Except, this wasn’t the end.

There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above the daunting warship, something shimmered. Blinking slowly, Tony watched, transfixed, as a star fell from the sky.

It burst through the clouds like an arrow cutting through the wind, heading straight toward the warship in a blinding flash and all that registered was the brilliant light, glaring so bright he lifted his hand to block out the sheer power. And that’s when it hit Tony like a ton of bricks.

It wasn’t a star at all. It wasn’t a comet or even a hallucination.

It was _Carol fucking Danvers._

Hope exploded inside of Tony’s chest like a stick of dynamite. It was a decimating, painful, blistering kind of hope. A last-ditch hope where both desperation and joy intertwined together.

Carol struck the warship, ripping clean through. A plume of orange and red fire erupted as she emerged like the sun itself leaving behind a trail of fire so hot that it was pure white.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Sound was delayed, the entire world holding its breath.

And then it hit like a tsunami. Trees groaned and bent, some snapping in half, the supersonic boom rippling out for miles. The reverb from Carol’s strike knocked Tony flat on his back. 

“FRIDAY!” Tony shouted, desperate and keening. He struggled to sit up, limbs flailing. “FRIDAY did you see that?!”

Silence.

Ignoring his injuries, Tony scrambled onto his knees, mouth gaping, eyes locked on the burning warship in the sky in hysterical disbelief. “FRIDAY?”

The line was dead. Tony slapped the side of his helmet, wincing when it caused his head to pound, but even then, his AI was gone. The burst of energy from the attack must have knocked out everything, FRIDAY included.

And Tony couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. In fact, he began to laugh, he laughed as tears streamed down his face. A beautiful sort of insanity filling him, tears of mirth soaking his skin, because he had been so sure he was about to die and now he was kneeling on the forest floor, bleeding, and watching a living star, streak across the sky towards the Compound. He laughed as he watched the first warship begin to fall, debris hanging in air, suspended almost on strings, as it made its descent in slow motion. He laughed as his suit sputtered the entire flight back to the Compound where he saw not just Carol Danvers, but Clint and Natasha and the small army of Skrulls fighting their way through the remaining Chitauri.

Help had finally arrived.

* * *

Thanos stared down at the screen, watching the dying ship, eyes glittering in the darkness. His finger tapped on the armrest of his throne and he smiled.

Finally, some backbone.

The ship wasn’t a great loss, there were four more just like it. Plenty of blood to spare. Rising to his feet, unfolding his body, the Titan walked out of his throne room itching for a fight.

“Let’s go to war.”

* * *

The closest thing he could describe the sound as was a thunderclap.

Except multiplied by a thousand.

Bruce’s head snapped up, heart leaping into his throat. The power died, backup emergency lights blinking out. The lab dove into darkness, a deep pitch black that drowned out everything except for the amber glow of the Soul Stone. It flared brighter, in fact, illuminating Groot’s face and for once, the tree lifted his gaze away from it to the ceiling, thin wooden mouth falling open.

“It’s happening,” Bruce breathed in the darkness, blind panic striking him. “IT’S HAPPENING! Groot! They need help!” He scrambled, gracelessly tripping over a chair and running into a stray table as he felt his way to the steel door. “I’m going in, you need to hide the stone.”

No sooner than the words left his mouth, Groot was reaching for the glass casing covering the stone. Its light and energy flickered over the grooves of wood and vines of his body like candlelight.

He brought the case to his middle, pressing it against his stomach, and Bruce watched, stunned, as the vines around Groot’s middle began to shift and move, peeling back like a curtain of a show. The teenage tree placed the stone and its case in the center of his stomach before the vines began to shift again, stretching over like growing ivy until the light from the Soul Stone was just mere glimmers through the thick cover of swamp-like branches. 

Slowly, his wooden head lifted, eyes blazing in something ancient and otherworldly. “ _I am Groot_.”

“I…” Bruce babbled, stunned, “did you just _eat_ it?”

A pause. Then—

“I am _Groot_ ,” the tree scoffed, clearly offended and Bruce threw his hands out to the side.

“I’m sorry, there isn’t a manual for this kind of thing!”

More silence.

“You really weren’t joking when you told Tony you had held an infinity stone before, were you?”

* * *

“Mr. Stark!” A young voice was shouting before he even landed (crashed, more like it) in the hangar. There was a blur of teenage excitement, wildly waving his arms at the sky, “Did you—did you—did you _see_ that? It was _amazing!_ She went binary, Mr. Stark, I didn’t even know that was— _oh_.”

Tony yanked the kid into his arms, clutching at his shoulders, metal hand cupping the back of the teen’s head. Shaking and so fucking relieved, Tony kept hugging Peter, unable to let go now that he had his arms around him.

Peter eagerly hugged him back, burrowing in like a heat seeking missile. “This is nice. We’re hugging.”

Fisting the hair at the base of his neck, Tony pushed the kid back a few inches, dark eyes roving over the streaks of soot covering his face, the thin cuts on his right cheek and temple, the bruise forming under his left eye.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m good,” Peter nodded, swallowing. And then it seemed to register to the teen just how close to dying Tony must have been. The bleeding in his mouth had slowed but not stopped completely. It gleamed dark red, wet and hot, over his chin and down his neck in thin rivulets. “Are _you_ okay?”

Tony opened his mouth—

“Looks like you could use a session in the cradle.”

Whirling around, hands clutching Peter’s shoulders, refusing to release the kid, Tony met Natasha’s gaze. She stood, silhouetted, in the hangar entrance, fire and smoke and streams of light blazing in the world behind her. Further into the battlefield, Clint was favoring one leg, firing off arrows at the retreating Chitauri.

There was a snarky remark on the tip of Tony’s tongue, but it felt dull and weak as he looked at his teammate—his friend. “God, it’s good to see you, Romanoff.”

“Tony.” She said simply, rushing forward to hug him with one arm because Tony still hadn’t let go of Peter. Natasha turned and offered the teen a smile, something almost like pride in her expression. 

And then she stepped back, eyeing the two of them and the burning world surrounding the Compound. “Rough fight?”

The words wouldn’t come and thankfully they didn’t have to when Carol flew into the hangar, the last vestiges of energy rippling over her legs before fading completely as her feet hit the concrete.

“Good to see you Stark,” the blond grinned, dark eyes flitting over him and Peter. “You look like shit.”

“My AI is gone because of you,” Tony finally released Peter, pointing an accusing finger at Carol. “Thanks for that.”

Natasha ducked her head, hiding her grin, and next to her, Carol smirked.

_Thunk, thunk, thunk._

Tony’s eyes widened and he spun on his heel, dizzy and blinking hard, his mind hardly able to register how swiftly their situation was changing. Out of the darkness of the hangar, the Hulk Crusher clunked forward, helmet snapping back to reveal Bruce’s pale, wide-eyed face of shock. The scientist looked at all of them, gaping like a fish.

“Where, how—when did you all get here?!”

“Surprise,” Clint called out, groaning as he limped over, bow strung across his back. His leg dragged behind him.

“What happened to you?” Tony frowned.

Natasha deadpanned, “He was an idiot.”

The redhead stared Clint down, watching the way his face contorted, like he was going to object, her eyes steely. She lifted a single brow and the archer sighed, slumping slightly.

“Surprise,” he repeated with a weak impression of jazz hands.

Smirking, Tony turned to Bruce, eyeing the Hulk Crusher as a thought struck him. “If you’re out here… Where’s the stone?”

“I am Groot,” the teenage tree popped out from behind the Hulk Crusher’s leg. Bruce opened his mouth to explain and then snapped it shut, blinking and shaking his head.

“It’s a long story,” he explained, “But Groot is keeping it safe.”

“He’s got it?” Tony clarified and Bruce winced and nodded at the same time but didn’t explain any further. The billionaire threw up his hands. “At this point, I’m not even going to ask.”

His heart expanded, filling with something so warm, Tony was mildly worried he might starting crying. The others hovered, eyes bright, and it felt, for a second, like things might be alright. Like they could fix this after all.

“Where’s Steve?”

Tony froze. 

The world dimmed, sound fading in a slow drowning kind of horror. Slowly, he turned to Natasha. She had been smiling but the second she took in Tony's expression, that smile dripped off her lips giving way to a naked kind of fear, the kind of fear she had never shown before, as if she was both desperate for the answer and terrified of it at the same time.

Next to Tony, Peter exhaled shakily, “The ship.”

“What?” Clint prompted, his voice a blade, sharp and cutting.

Peter sputtered, blood draining from his face until even his lips had lost their color. He looked at Tony with wide eyes and the billionaire knew what he was going to say before the words even left his mouth. 

“Steve was on that ship.”

* * *

She had fallen asleep again.

It hadn’t taken much, a full stomach, a warm blanket, and Bucky’s hand to hold on to. Darcy slept deep and hard and for once, she did not dream. She didn’t need to, not with the object of her dreams beside her.

Waking up was harder, her eyes crusty and there was a small dark patch on the pillow where she had drooled. She smacked her lips together and yawned obscenely loud.

Someone snorted.

Blinking rapidly, Darcy turned her head, the delicate hairs shifting on her scalp, turning static-y against the silk throw pillow. Bucky was watching her with a fond grin, back against the wall, one long leg extended while the other bent with his metal arm resting on the knee. At some point, he must have taken back his hand so that it was no longer being used like a stuffed animal.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Bucky murmured quietly.

Darcy grunted and shut her eyes again, burrowing into the pillow. “Wh’time’izit?”

“About four o-clock.”

Her eyes snapped open and she pushed up from the stiff couch, her back aching. Throwing her arms above her head, Darcy arched to stretch and then, like a string had been cut, she flopped back down in a slump.

“My clock is _so_ off.”

Bucky chuckled and slapped his thighs, rising to his feet. She watched as he stretched now, the hem of his shirt lifting enough to reveal a small strip of toned muscle around his middle. 

“I’m going to shower,” Bucky said suddenly and Darcy’s eyes flashed to his, catching the ‘ _I caught you looking_ ’ twinkle in his eyes. Thankfully, he didn’t comment, but the smirk playing about his lips was enough. “You need anything?”

“Nope,” she shook her head, popping the ‘p’ loudly.

He nodded and headed toward the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Just shout if you do.”

She waited until the bathroom door clicked shut before throwing back the blanket. Her body ached like it used to when she had overdone it at the gym. But it was more than that, her bones throbbed and her head felt full and watery. Stumbling to her feet, Darcy walked to the kitchen and pulled a glass from the cabinets, filling it with tap water.

 _Beep_.

Darcy frowned, tilting her head. Turning off the water, she went still and waited. When nothing happened, she shook her head and started to drink, cool water sliding down her throat.

 _Beep_.

She sputtered, water dribbling down the sides of her mouth and neck. The sound was coming from a small cubby next to the microwave. Carefully, she reached up and opened it, eyes growing wide when she saw the small television screen inside and on it, live footage of the front door.

It wasn’t the security camera that shocked her, she had expected something like that with Bucky in all honesty.

No. It was the red blinking motion light and the person stepping up to the front door, grainy in the picture but utterly recognizable. Darcy stopped breathing, stunned, her body tensing.

And then she was running for the front door, ripping it open. The summer light and the heat hit her like a wall but none of it mattered as she stared up at the figure.

“St… _Steve?_ ”

Blue eyes locked on her and Darcy shook her head, shocked and confused, mouth opening and closing. The astonishment that he was here, Steve was here and he was _okay_ , was so strong and so sudden, she couldn’t even bring herself to speak.

Darcy’s hand clapped over her mouth as she gasped, eyes watering. A lock of blond hair fell over his forehead and he glanced over her shoulder, peering into the house for a long moment, before locking his gaze on her once more. He looked so goddamn hopeful.

“Come with me, quick,” he urged and Darcy’s brain seemed to malfunction.

“I don’t—what are you doing here?”

“There is no time, we have to go,” Steve shook his head and then turned his palm over, beckoning her with a twitch of his fingers. “Take my hand.”

Confused, she stared down at his hand, brows furrowing deeply. Distantly, an alarm was blaring in the back of her mind. Steve watched her, seemed to see the cogs working in her brain, and his expression changed, his eyes going flat in a way Darcy had never seen.

Darcy took a step back into the house. “You know I can’t…”

Inside the house, a door slammed open.

“ _DARCY THAT’S NOT—_ ”

It happened in sixty heart-pounding seconds. She whirled around, hearing Bucky’s scream, at the same time something cold and heavy slapped over her wrist. It whirred mechanically before it tightened, painfully pinching her skin. Snapping back to Steve, she gasped, staring down at the strange manacle encircling her wrist, nearly engulfing her hand. A thick chain attached her to the imposter.

Steve smiled down at her and it was not Steve. In an instant, his face shifted, morphing into a terrifying monster, the same one that Loki had masqueraded as when he broke into her room.

But this time, Darcy didn’t think it was the God of Mischief in disguise. This time, it was real.

She screamed, jerking backwards, the manacle clinking at the same moment Steve’s shield came flying out of the house, a red-white-and-blue blur, whipping by her hair, slicing straight through the chain. It severed it completely, slamming into the tree trunk just outside the porch, and her arm went slack at her side.

The creature lurched out of the way, sneering at the shield before turning to Darcy and lunging for her. Her eyes bulged obscenely when his thin, cold hand wrapped around her neck.

A blast of green light exploded from her, rippling out like a radar. It was a burst of magic, tingling through her blood like electricity and for a second, all she could hear was Loki’s voice.

_The most dangerous kind of magic is the kind you aren’t even aware is present._

She was flung back, head slamming into the ground hard enough that she saw stars. A metal hand wrapped around her arm, helping her up. Darcy’s ears were ringing and she could hear the low murmurs of Bucky’s voice, but she couldn’t make out the words.

They didn’t matter because all she could focus on, all she could see or hear or think about was the puddle of steaming guts where the creature had once stood. It was like he had been turned inside out. Her stomach lurched and Darcy bent over, puking all over her bare feet.

“Shit,” Bucky was breathing hard, his voice shaking. “ _Jesus, fuck_.”

Wiping her mouth, she straightened and turned away from the spaghetti-like corpse at the front door, her face screwing up, stomach lurching again.

 _Click_.

Jerking, Darcy gasped and looked down at her hand. The chain had been severed but the manacle was still sitting heavy on her wrist and in the center of it, a small blue light was flashing.

She slowly lifted her gaze to Bucky who was staring down at the contraption, panting.

 _Whirrrr_.

That was their only warning. 

Gray eyes snapped to Darcy and the last thing she saw before the manacle opened up a wormhole and sucked her straight through it was Bucky’s bone-white, terrified face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. A brief reminder, one of the first tags on here is “intense” and the next few chapters are really the reason why. However, this is still a HEA and there will be a much lighter and fluffier and… smuttier third arc. But before that, it’s gonna get wild. Just… erm... trust me, yeah? 
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) for sneak peeks at upcoming chapters, manips, playlists, random photos of my dog, and group freak outs over Darcy.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else have a *certain* song from Wandavision stuck in their head today? No? Just me?
> 
> Well then, let’s continue.

The sky was a blood orange haze. Blankets of smoke hung just above the tree line; a layer of burning seafoam over an ocean of fire. Pockets of embers glowered in the blackened earth like fireflies and Tony’s dying suit cracked and sizzled as he flew above it all. Sweat slicked his skin and for a moment, it was like he was being cooked alive.

The repulsors sputtered, threatening to give out, but he ignored it, panic pushing him harder and faster. Wind fluttered around him, his eyes searching the smoldering forest desperately for any sign of Steve among the ruins. He didn’t wait for the others, didn’t wait for a decision to be made; the second he realized that the idiot had gotten onto that ship, he took flight.

Carol wasn’t far behind him. Her search took her north towards the largest part of the wreckage while Tony banked south to the fallen debris. 

A wordless kind of dread rolled through the billionaire the longer he flew, his mind refusing to give voice to the thing he feared. There was so much ground to cover and scanning the expansive forest for heat signatures was useless when the world was on fire. His mind raced, heart pounding, he needed to—

Tony’s heart plummeted to the ground. 

Because there, among the ashes, pinned under a thick tree branch was a flash of pale skin and blond hair and a very dead looking Steve Rogers.

* * *

_Crack!_

The wormhole closed. Bucky stood there, frozen and stunned, his hand outstretched in the empty space where Darcy had stood less than a second ago. Oxygen was sucked from his lungs and no matter how hard he tried he could not inhale.

_She’s gone… she’s gone._

There was a pile of simmering intestines on the porch, alien blood splattered on the front of the house like a Jackson Pollock painting, Steve’s shield imbedded in the thick trunk of an oak tree, and Darcy was fucking _gone_. 

Before he even knew what he was doing, Bucky was back inside the house, snatching up the satellite phone. He punched in the number on autopilot, heart thumping hard enough that he could feel it in his temples, his blood buzzing like an electric current.

The phone rang. He paced the kitchen.

“C’mon Steve, pick up, pick up, pick up.” After the fifth ring, the brunette snapped, snarling, “Pick up— _goddamnit pick up!_ ”

No answer.

Bucky crushed the phone with his bare hand. He had known there wouldn’t be an answer, knew the comms were still down, knew they were at fucking _war_ right now, but a part of him still had to try, had to try and reach Steve, to warn him.

 _To warn him of what—that you fucking failed?_ A voice in his head spat, making him both dizzy and nauseous with panic. _That you couldn’t do the one goddamn thing Steve begged you to do over and over again?_

His mind was a hurricane and at the center of it was the memory of Darcy’s wild, tear-filled eyes, locked on him, silently pleading and so damn scared. She had trusted him, put her life and heart and soul in his hands—giving so _fucking_ freely of herself and he _lost_ her. 

He failed her when she needed him most.

She had been right to take the spell from Loki. He remembered how that shit ate at him, how badly it stung when she told him, but now, in a sick kind of realization, Bucky understood. He wasn’t enough to keep her safe, not by a longshot, and now that fucking spell was the only thing in this world standing between her and death.

_When it should be me._

With a roar of absolute rage, he whirled around and hurled the busted phone at the wall, like a missile; it punched a hole clean through into the next room. Chest heaving, his entire body shaking, he stared at the damage.

But he wasn’t the only one staring at that gaping hole. There was another, lurking just under the surface of his skin, woken from his slumber by Bucky’s utter distress. 

**Let me do it.**

The voice was so cold it burned; Bucky jolted at the quiet request. He clenched his teeth until pain radiated from his jaw, every muscle in his body strung tight like a bow. 

The Soldier stared out through Bucky’s eyes with a clinical kind of calculation. Phantom icy fingers trailed along the length of his throat; Bucky shivered, his whole body trembling. Stone-faced, the Soldier began to pace, crawling beneath Bucky’s skin, sliding into the gaps that had been carved out to fit him perfectly. 

And Bucky didn’t fight it.

The Winter Soldier was a part of him and always had been—long before Hydra came into the picture. Shuri had managed to remove the triggers, but not the monster itself. No one could and he knew that. Savagery lived inside of Bucky, it had been unearthed in the war, born out of wild desperation and untamed fear; it was ugly and feral and frighteningly violent and it had walked in his skin through all of Europe and followed him throughout the century, right back into Steve’s arms. Every time his world was threatened, it was unleashed.

And Steve Grant Rogers had been his whole world for so fucking long. The things he would do for that man scared him right down to the bone—all it took was the right push.

But now it was not just Steve.

They were bound by the soul, he and Darcy. She was in his blood, swam through his veins; she was the marrow in his bones. He had known it all along, what she was to him, to _them_ , but was too chicken shit to admit it, to be vulnerable enough to give someone the chance to reject him. He had lucked out with Steve, believed the man to be an anomaly. Bucky had been sure there wasn’t another like him, someone who could love him once they found out all of who he was. _What_ he was. Sure, he talked big about bringing in a third, but when presented with the reality, Bucky had choked.

Until today.

Until he ripped his goddamn heart open and laid in bare. He didn’t know what her reaction would be, but Bucky should have known Darcy, _fucking_ Darcy, would take his offering and give him one of her own in equal measure.

And in the end, none of that mattered. None of it mattered because she was gone. The woman who died for him, who pulled him out of the closest thing to hell he had ever known was in danger.

There was only one person that the manacle on Darcy’s wrist could have led her to. He knew who it was, who was hunting her, and Bucky’s eyes narrowed in a predatory sort of calm, frost creeping over every inch of his skin.

He knew what he had to do.

Thanos had just stolen his girl—his and Steve's girl. He had taken Darcy right out of his fingertips and Bucky wasn’t pissed; fire didn’t ignite his veins. The whole world went still, narrowing to a single point of focus, a single purpose.

The Soldier pressed a little closer, eager and hungry. Those eyes, the ones that had become an arctic abyss, stared back at him for an impossibly long time, glittering in the night. Bucky was content to stare back, his face going eerily blank.

 **Let me do it** , the Soldier repeated, his voice like the ghost of a dying, whispered breath. **Set me free.**

Ice crept up his limbs like growing ivy.

“As you wish,” he murmured.

Bucky and the Soldier merged into one.

* * *

Once in art class he had been instructed to paint a picture of pain. There was no other prompt, no other guidance; Steve had chosen the color red. He had smeared it across the canvas, swirling it, splattering it until the finished product was as jarring as an explosion of blood.

But he had been wrong.

Pain wasn’t red at all. It was white and searing and it wrapped the world in a thick fog that Steve couldn’t see through. 

His nostrils burned, something heavy lay across his chest, his back felt warm and wet, and he couldn’t see anything beyond hazy blurs. Steve was alive but he couldn’t move, couldn’t think when his world was that white screaming pain radiating from his back and his head. 

Vaguely, he was aware of a solid thud hitting the ground next to him, but he didn’t react— _couldn’t_. Seconds or maybe an eternity later, the pressure was lifted off his chest. Steve inhaled reflexively and then seized up, hissing through his teeth as more of that blistering white pain ignited around his middle. His face screwed up and he groaned loudly, tilting his head to the side.

“ _Sh!_ ” A warm metal hand clapped over his mouth, silencing him.

Steve’s heart soared.

“Buck?” His eyes slit open, the world misted over, and he thought he was grinning.

There was a long, _long_ pause, and then—

“… No.”

Confused, Steve blinked slowly, frowning, staring at the voice that he knew. In the haze, there were flashes of gold and red and dark eyes, a friend’s eyes.

“H… Howard?”

Those dark eyes just stared at him like they had gone cold inside. “ _Jeez_ Capsicle, just how hard did you hit your head?”

 _Capsicle_. 

Steve hated that nickname, had hated it since the moment it had been given to him, but the jarring quality of it anchored him slightly and despite the pain there was a tiny piece of information that he could process: Tony.

Satisfied, Steve mumbled the billionaire’s name, or at least he thought he had. His brows furrowed deeply and he slid his eyes shut once more. 

“Hey now, don’t do that. You don’t get to pass out on me again after finding out the identity of your dashing rescuer.” 

Underneath the attempt at humor, there was a twinge of urgency in Tony’s hushed voice. But Steve was so tired and it was so much easier to deal with the tsunami of pain if he just closed his eyes and—

Metal connected with his cheek.

Steve’s eyes fluttered open at the slap. It didn’t hurt ( _nothing_ hurt compared to his back), but it jerked him into alertness. Blinking sluggishly, his eyes cleared a little as he stared up at Tony’s worried, frowning face. 

“Tony?”

“Yeah,” the billionaire sighed. Everything about the man was frayed at the edges, a ripped silk flag fluttering in the wind. He was crouched on his heels and in a moment of clarity, Steve noticed that the man’s jaw and neck was covered in blood. 

_Why was Tony bleeding?_

There was a cracking sound and something almost like the screech of an owl. Above him, Tony went unnaturally still and glanced over his shoulder at something Steve couldn’t see or hear. Barren branches swayed and creaked over Tony’s head against the fading sky. 

Turning back around, the billionaire swallowed and lowered his voice even more. “We need to get back to the others.”

Tony was worried. Steve could hear it in his voice, could see it in his eyes, and the blood was a stark contrast to the pale face. 

Blood. 

_Why was Tony bleeding?_

“Is someone ‘urt?” Steve’s tongue felt slow and thick.

Tony just stared down at him, an odd look in his dark eyes. Finally, he wet his lips and said simply, his voice purposefully light, “Yeah, but you’re going to be okay”

A beat of silence.

“Oh,” Steve furrowed his brows, his voice hoarse. “I’m hurt?”

“You’ll…” Tony started and then he stopped, as though he changed his mind, “you’re gonna be okay. Now, come on, we gotta get you on your feet.”

It was a battle and a half to get him onto his knees, mostly because Tony couldn’t touch his back without it erupting into pure fire (Steve guessed he really _was_ hurt). At some point between transferring his body from lying on the ground to kneeling in the scorched earth, Steve cried out and lurched, his eyes bulging. 

Even the blinding white flare of pain could only burn so bright before it died out and soon, the corners of his vision begin to black out.

“Come on, you big lug,” Tony grunted, somehow hauling Steve to his feet and managing to bear his weight. For a second, they swayed where they stood and Steve thought they might topple over. But Tony was Tony and Tony was brilliant. Tony was resourceful; the billionaire always found a way out when his back was in a corner. 

There was a whirring sound followed by a solid metallic _thunk_. The suit stabilized, rooting them to the ground, while Tony searched the sky. Steve tried to do the same, but his world kept spinning, his head lolling back, eyes rolling.

Finally, after what felt like a very long time, Tony murmured, “I can’t fly us both out of here. Not at the same time. The suit’s busted.”

“Flare,” Steve slurred, his voice sounding odd to his ears, almost like he was drunk. But he couldn’t get drunk anymore. He had goddamn tried after he lost Bucky the first time. “Call f’r ‘elp.”

“No can do,” Tony was shaking his head. “We’re not the only ones in these woods. I don’t know how many Chitauri made it out or how many others survived that crash and I don’t want to find out. So, here’s what we’re going to do…”

Chitauri. Crash. Woods.

 _Right_. 

Thanos. The stone. Darcy and Bucky leaving. They were under attack. He had been fighting.

“Did we win?” Steve interrupted whatever it was Tony had been explaining and the billionaire stopped, mouth clicking shut. 

“Not yet. Now hush and _try_ to listen to me.”

* * *

The wormhole spit her out without warning.

Darcy’s body hit the ground with a bone-jarring smack. Screeching alarms ripped through the air less than a second later. Freezing stone cutting into the meat of her palms as she shakily pushed herself up to her hands and knees, her stomach flipping from her hurtle through space. She couldn’t see where she was, her vision cartwheeling, hair a midnight curtain around her face. 

It was cold but not like a winter’s chill, this was different. It was as if _life_ itself had been sucked out of the air, like something or _someone_ was feeding on it. Beneath her, the ground seemed to groan, as ancient as hunger itself. The sound ricocheted in her bones shaking an already trembling soul.

“ _Oh, god_.”

Her breath came out in puffs of curling white fog; there was no time to think, no time to process what had just happened—the sheer violence of it all.

Shouts reached her ears, strange and foreign voices steadily getting closer and louder. They hissed and snarled out words she didn’t understand; thundering footsteps surrounded her on all sides. Complete and utter panic flooded through her veins and for a terrifying heartbeat Darcy could do nothing but stay kneeling on the ground, absolutely frozen. She could not think, she could not bring herself to react in any other way; it didn’t matter that she was putting herself in danger by just sitting there, waiting for them to come to her.

All Darcy knew was terror.

A large hand latched onto the back of her head, wrenching a handful of hair and an involuntary shriek tore loose from Darcy’s chest. Her hear snapped back and she couldn’t see her attacker, thick strands of her hair blinded her completely, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because less than a second later, there was an explosion of green light and mist erupting from the center of her chest like a C-4.

It rippled out through the room, a decimating soundwave, and Darcy was thrown backwards. Limbs flailing through the air, she collided into a crowd of bodies surrounding her.

Loki’s spell didn’t give her a single moment to breathe. It seared through her chest like burning napalm, the biggest surge of magic yet. 

_BOOM_.

Darcy cried out, slamming harder into the ground under the force of the spell. Rolling on her back, moaning in pain, her eyes screwed shut as her chest throbbed and pulsed and something shifted inside of it—like the spell itself was an animal, angry and coiling up to strike again. 

She could smell the burning flesh, the sharp metallic scent of blood; she could hear the bubbling wet sound of innards sliding down onto the archaic bloodthirsty ground. Angry screams of terror spilled into the air; she didn’t need to understand their language to comprehend the meaning.

They were going to kill her. 

Her eyes popped open, eyes unseeing, lashes clumping together under hot tears.

A shadow moved over her and distantly, Darcy registered the snarling face of a crazed monster and its bony, gnarled hand reaching for her.

Reflexively, she threw her hands up in front of her face, bracing herself and—

“Unless you wish to die, I would not touch her.”

For a moment, her heart actually stopped. 

The voice was not loud, but it carried and reverberated above the animalistic shrieks, echoing in the ear of every being. It came from behind her and it was the verbal equivalent of a lion stalking its prey.

There were three seconds of stunned silence. And then the creature hovering above her pulled back with a sneer on its face.

Darcy didn’t move. 

_Thump…_

_Thump…_

_Thump…_

Slow footsteps approached, heavy and unapologetic; like doom itself. 

She had heard people describe terror as paralyzing but had never really experienced it until now. It was like living inside of skin that refused to listen to her. Her mind screamed at her to move but her body was as limp as a dead fish. 

_Thump…_

_Thump…_

Time seemed to stretch.

She shook, lying on her back, staring up at the cavernous ceiling of what had to be a massive ship. There were pockets of windows in the rock like dome, places where she could look at the sky, something beautiful and free and very much not where she was right now.

She hadn’t even registered where she was before everything went to shit. But Darcy supposed she didn’t need to, it was obvious, really.

_Thump._

Her vein pulsed in her neck and a chill skittered over her spine like the legs of a thousand spiders. The ground underneath her grew even colder, a bone-deep ache like ice itself. Panting, she lay there, wholly unable to move, chains of fear locking around each and every muscle of her body while her nerves misfired, like live wires—raw and screaming. 

She was utterly trapped.

Darcy waited, nauseating rolls of terror turning her stomach over and over.

Steve would want her to think through this, Bucky would urge her to fight, Thor would be angry that she didn’t try to run, and Jane… Jane would be _livid_ that she had given up.

But Darcy wasn’t like them. She was a superhero, she wasn’t a genius; she was just… Darcy. No matter how much she tried to be like someone else, there was no escaping who she was. And in the end, she was just an average woman who was _so fucking afraid_.

“Get up.”

Darcy’s eyes slid open (when had she closed them?) and she wished they hadn’t. Above her stood a living nightmare. She had seen him once before, but it was nothing to how Thanos looked now, looming over her like a great and terrible mountain.

A blade kissed her cheek, sharp and wicked and brutal. It did not cut the skin, but the intent was clear. 

“I will not repeat myself,” Thanos warned lowly.

It was as if her body moved on its own accord, she scrambled helplessly to her knees. The blade, a massive double-sided machete taller than the Titan himself, followed her movement, sliding just under her chin giving her no option but to keep her gaze locked on Thanos. The rough ground bit into the skin on her knees and shins and the top of her bare feet and she wondered, absently, how ridiculous she must look: a human woman kneeling before a Titan, shoeless in thin shorts and a tank top.

A memory flit by, like the wings of a butterfly, of Thor instructing her to wear better shoes (or to wear shoes period) and Darcy would have laughed if she wasn’t so sure she would scream and never stop screaming the moment her mouth opened.

“That was a clever trick,” Thanos stared down at her and Darcy’s skin crawled. She didn’t dare flick her eyes to the piles of dead creatures she knew littered the room. The Titan held her teary gaze and sneered, “It _reeks_ of Loki… Tell me, did Maw meet the same fate?”

She very much wanted to say, _take my hand and find out._ Instead, Darcy stayed absolutely silent, her tongue refusing to cooperate under the blind terror.

Thanos squatted down so that their eyes were on the same level. She would have flinched away from him if it weren’t for the blade he kept carefully under her chin, holding her in place as he studied her. She was coiled tighter than a spring, her hands clenched at her sides, chest heaving.

“Lucky for me,” Thanos said softly, his deep voice sliding under her skin, “I have no need to touch you to bring you pain.”

And then slowly, the Titan lifted his left hand. 

Darcy’s eyes flew to it and her whole body clenched. The gauntlet itself glinted dully compared to the five infinity stones imbedded in it. They smoldered, pulsing like blood locked inside a vein searching for a way out. He held it up for her inspection and while she could feel the sheer power radiating from them, Darcy’s eyes zeroed in on the knuckle over his pinky.

On the empty slot.

Thanos noticed as well; his eyes tightened. 

“These five will not be as gentle with you, I think,” he mused, quietly, his eyes burning into hers. “By the time I am done with you, you will beg me for death. And so, I will give you this one kindness, you may choose which one we start with.”

Fear like Darcy had never experienced surged through her. It filled her from her toes to the top of her head, welling up until it spilled over and warm liquid gushed down her legs suddenly, uncontrollably, rivulets down her thighs and knees, hot and wet. A wordless keening sound, like a wild animal caught in an inescapable bear trap, wheezed out between her lips.

Thanos’ nostrils flared, and his eyes flicked down to the streams of pee dripping down her legs, lip curling slightly. Like he was disgusted. Darcy would have been too if her mind could think anything beyond the white noise of terror.

“I would have thought a stonekeeper would be more formidable. You are but a child.” He scoffed, his voice a low rumble. “And yet…” Thanos paused, head tilting slightly. “The Soul Stone chose you. Why?”

Silence.

Slight pressure in the soft flesh under her chin and then Darcy felt a sting; the blade he held on her made its first cut, a prick more than anything else but it was enough to get her attention.

“ _Answer me_.”

Her mouth worked, opening and closely, throat bobbing until the words worked their way up and out, “I don’t know.”

Abruptly the blade dropped, leaving her skin, but Darcy didn’t dare move. She could see herself reflected in Thanos’ eyes; the bone-white terror in her face and the thin streak of red sliding down her throat. 

“Perhaps we should find out.”

Darcy didn’t respond and Thanos reached for something on his waist. He pulled out a smaller double-sided blade, one the size of her forearm. There was a red gem sitting right in the center of the intricate handle. She stared down at it like it was a snake.

“Take it,” the Titan instructed, his voice giving no other option but to obey. Shaking like a dying Autumn leaf, Darcy’s pale fingers wrapped around the hilt in the middle.

She lifted her gaze, the knife lifeless in her hand. Her stomach lurched.

There was a long moment of silence.

“Curious,” Thanos murmured, staring at her in a strange sort of way; the way she had seen scientists observe a gerbil they were about to dissect and a whole new kind of fear welled up in Darcy’s belly. “You do not wish to kill me?”

She looked at the Titan sharply. “I…” she started and then stopped, mouth clicking shut, “no.”

“Why?”

Darcy thought about it, felt the weight of not just the blade but the consequences of it in her hand, and she knew the answer. 

“I don’t think I could go through with it,” she admitted, quietly.

Once she had said it aloud, she knew that even kneeling here, face to face with evil incarnate, a blade in her hand, she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. Even if it meant he was going to kill her. Her soul couldn’t bear it. The spell was one thing, but choosing to take something so sacred away from another being…

Thanos just stared at her for what felt like a very long time, and then— 

“You are telling the truth.”

Darcy trembled, even as she nodded. “Yes.”

Sharply, words that she had spoken once to Steve long ago in a dimly lit kitchen over an old pot of coffee, came back to her. Words that she had used to defend her choice in refusing Natasha’s gun, in choosing not to kill, words that rang truer now than they ever had before.

_You can save lives without having to take one in return._

Darcy was ripped from the memory when Thanos carefully reached for the knife, delicately plucking it from her hands by the tip of the blade to avoid touching her. He looked down at the dagger and rolled his neck like he was shaking something from his shoulders. Her eyes followed the movement and she got the distinct feeling that time was running out.

Dread sank inside of her, down to her toes, like a thousand-pound weight in a bottomless lake.

Grasping for something, anything, Darcy blurted out in a loud voice, “Why are you doing this? There has to be a reason.”

Thanos went still but he did not turn away from the blade. Slowly, he held out a single finger and placed the center of the knife’s hilt on the tip of it so that it balanced without wobbling one way or the other. 

“Balance,” Thanos replied without looking at her, his voice a million miles away.

“And what makes you the judge and jury on how to balance the universe?”

The question left her lips before she could catch it. 

It was a slow thing, the way that Thanos slowly lifted his gaze. His eyes locked on her, a target in the crosshairs. “Because I am the only one willing to make the sacrifice.”

The Titan’s gaze slid back down to the knife once more, spinning it expertly back into his palm. Darcy watched the way he held it with care, as though it were of infinite value to him.

She only wished he felt that way about the billions of lives he had wiped off the map. 

“We are not so different, you and I—”

Darcy snarled. “We are _nothing_ alike.”

His eyes flashed up and it was like a punch in the gut; a warning. Thanos sheathed the knife with a _snap_ , never taking his eyes off of her. “Both of us are bound to pain for the greater good. Both of us have sacrificed.”

Stunned, Darcy stared up at the Titan, her mind sputtering. She knew he was a monster, of course, but she was not prepared for this level of delusion.

“What are you—there is nothing ‘good’ in what you have done,” Darcy told him, her voice not exactly shaking. “You tell yourself that because every villain believes they are the hero of their own story but what about everyone else? What about the families you tore apart? You think you’ve sacrificed?” Anger pulsed through Darcy now, hot and white and burning until she bared her teeth at the Titan. “Your sacrifice is a _lie_. You pay in the blood of innocents while you stand untouched. You don’t even know the _meaning_ of sacri—”

“You think what I have done has not cost me?”

Thanos’ eyes bored into hers.

It was an effort to hold his piercing gaze. There was a measure of pain and heartache swimming there that Darcy was not prepared to face. Because she knew that heartache intimately. It was the same thing she saw staring back at her in the mirror in the early days, right after the Snap.

_We are not so different, you and I._

She felt sick.

“Who did you lose?” Darcy asked carefully.

A beat of silence, then—

“ _Everyone_.”

The word settled between them turning the air raw and full of welts. Darcy stayed very still as she caught a glimpse of what lay behind the carefully closed shutters of Thanos’ eyes. And something like hope sparked in her chest, a fool’s hope, but hope, nonetheless.

“Then why not let me bring them back?” She asked, leaning toward him, her voice soft and oddly gentle. “I would.”

Thanos just stared at her. “They are in a place not even the stones could reach.”

“And you would make everyone else experience the same pain you live with?”

Slowly, he shook his head, as though there was no other option, as though she were a child that did not understand some great truth.

“Grief is the price we pay for love.”

The creature before her was old, Darcy could see it then, in his eyes. He was ancient in ways that she would never know. There was a wrenching pain of centuries of loss inside of Thanos, loss that turned to destruction because anger and rage was always easier than grief.

_It doesn’t have to be this way._

“No,” Darcy said, shaking her head, the word almost too soft for her own ears. “There has to be another way. Can’t you just…” she paused, squinting, brows pulling together and lifting in the middle. Desperate, her hand lifted, as if she wanted to reach for him while a lump settled down deep at the base of her throat. She swallowed harshly, her voice cracking, “They would listen to you. Call an end to this. _You_ have the power, Thanos, you can end this war. You can end all of this pain and death— _you_ can. Please, please, please, talk to them!” Darcy’s breath hitched, her eyes burning with tears. “I—I’ll talk to them for you.”

For a second, Darcy almost thought he was considering it. 

“You think me redeemable?” Thanos asked at last, his eyes giving away nothing. 

A pause.

“Are you?”

“Once, long ago, perhaps.”

Something cracked inside of Darcy and spilled, filling her throat and welling up until it reached her tongue. She couldn’t stop the words, the promise and the hope from spilling out.

“What if you could be again?”

Thanos searched Darcy’s face for a what felt like a very long time. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and almost kind. 

“I see it now, why the stone chose you.” The words felt like a door closing and no matter how hard Darcy shoved against it, she could not hold it open. Thanos watched the fresh tears (tears of defeat) rush down her cheeks with an almost scientific fascination. “What a curious being you are and what a pity we had not crossed paths ages ago. I am beyond redemption, little one. I know this and it does not bother me. _That_ is my sacrifice.”

Abruptly, he straightened, rising to his full height and the door didn’t just close shut—it was slammed with a resounding _bang_.

Time was up.

Darcy’s stomach clenched. Her voice, when she spoke, was very small. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I was.”

Shivers raced up her spine.

“And now?” 

It was a strange and horrifying thing, to witness the way any minute form of compassion bled from the Titan’s eyes, freezing over with a cold and empty kind of calculation. It set her on edge and made her tense because he reminded Darcy then of a wild animal, a big predatory thing with eyes of a barren, frozen wasteland. 

“Not yet,” Thanos told her, his mouth curving in a sharp and cruel sort of smile. “I have a bargain to make and you are my winning piece. But first, we will clean you up and maybe then you will learn what it is to be a proper sacrifice.”

Darcy’s mouth opened but she never got the chance to reply. Thanos lifted the gauntlet and closed his fist, the blue stone igniting. 

* * *

The shield was wrenched free from the thick tree trunk with a metallic _shing_. Hefting it in his arms, he marched back through the house carelessly stepping over the pile of guts on the front porch.

He was breaking protocol leaving the safehouse like this, duffle bags still inside, surfaces covered in both of their fingerprints. But for once in his life, the Soldier didn’t much care.

He had a mission.

The only things he brought out of that house with him was a simple backpack filled with a small armory of weapons and Steve’s shield. He didn’t need anything else.

Slinging the backpack over his shoulder, the brunette tightened his grip on the shield and made his way through the garage. The door rolled open with a quiet groan, late afternoon sunlight pouring in, creeping deeper into the sterile garage. He waited until it opened completely, eyes sweeping the road, stopping briefly on an approaching vehicle. The old beat up van had two male passengers and it rolled to a stop a few houses down. The driver pulled out a map, pointing at it while the passenger pinched the bridge of his nose.

The Soldier eyed the two men warily, assessing no threat, before marching to the white Chevy pick-up.

Gleaming silver ripped the door open at the same time arguing voices rose out of the van’s open window.

“You were supposed to get off on seventh street.”

That annoyed tone was followed quickly by a second louder voice. “This is seventh street! Just let me find it on the map.”

“No, it’s seventh _avenue_ ,” snipped the first voice. “There’s a difference and what did you do to the map? It has creases in it. You don’t _fold_ the map, you _roll_ the map! How many times do I have to tell you?”

The Soldier slid his backpack into the passenger seat (Darcy’s seat), gray eyes flicking up. They connected with the driver’s open and friendly face staring at him over the large map. He shifted Steve’s shield carefully behind the open door of the truck, out of view.

The driver nodded his chin at him.

The Soldier did not nod back.

The driver motioned to him. “Let’s ask this guy,” he leaned out of his window, forearm resting along the edge, a bright smile on his face. “Hey man, do you know how to get to the interstate from here? We took the exit for seventh avenue, but my buddy says we were supposed to go off on seventh street, except now we can’t find seventh street or seventh avenue.”

A beat of silence. The Soldier said nothing.

Next to the driver, the passenger suddenly leaned forward, squinting at him through the dirty windshield. His hand tightened on the shield, arm whirring. The passenger tilted his head, looking like he was thinking very hard, and then, as if struck by a sudden revelation, the man straightened in his seat, scrambling for the door.

Suspiciously, the Soldier carefully reached for the gun at his waist, his face perfectly blank. The passenger, a dark-haired man with a kind face grinned, eyes wide in child-like amazement as he stumbled out of the van into the street. 

“I know you!” He sputtered out in happy shock. The Soldier did not react and the man’s smile faded, but only barely. “Your… you…” he stopped and cleared his throat, the easy smile returning, his dark eyes bright and cheery. “Hi, it’s me, Scott Lang. We were in Germany together—the airport. I helped you escape going to prison and went under house arrest. Captain America knows me, we’re friends.”

For a long moment, the Soldier said nothing and continued staring at the man. The man—Scott—sounded familiar and his face was like that of a dream, far off and foggy, like recalling a story an old friend once told him.

“It’s me,” Scott said, patting his chest in a reassuring manner, his voice slow and careful. “Ant Man.”

The Soldier frowned and blinked, his eyes dropping to the ground. The fog shifted, thinning slightly, and he saw Scott’s face in an old garage—saw him vigorously shaking Steve’s hand.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to Scott and noticed that the man had, at some point, drifted closer.

“I remember you,” the Soldier murmured almost too quiet to hear. He squinted at the other man, confused, his voice halting. “You were smaller.”

“Yeah!” Scott beamed.

Behind him, the driver leaned his head further outside of the van, shouting, “He turns real big, too!”

The Soldier’s eyes flew to the driver and slid back to Scott, staying on the familiar face. He swallowed thickly.

“I remember.”

“What a small world,” Scott laughed and moved forward to pat his arm, shaking his shoulder in his exuberance. He shook his head, “What are you doing here?”

The Soldier hesitated, the question taking him off guard.

_I have a mission._

Darcy’s face flashed through his mind and the Soldier went quiet once more. He shifted on his feet, itching to ignore this distraction and jump into the truck to drive away.

His movement caught Scott’s eye and Ant Man glanced down, finally noticing the iconic shield. Slowly, confusedly, Scott frowned, brows pulling together.

“Why do you have Captain America’s shield?” The Soldier couldn’t answer and Scott’s eyes sharpened. “Is he okay?”

The Soldier just stared at Scott and then slowly, he shook his head. “No. He’s not.”

Scott’s smile dropped like heavy snow falling off the branch of a pine tree and everything about the man sobered up. He glanced over his shoulder at the driver in the van giving some kind of unseen hand signal. The driver nodded and Scott turned back around.

“Well, we were going to the Avengers Compound anyway. How about you fill me in on the way?”

The Soldier debated it for less than a second before Bucky shifted more to the surface, bleeding through the frost-covered eyes. He nodded once; decision made.

“Drive.”

* * *

She was still as stone; a dark silhouette against a burning forest.

The sun was setting. The trees surrounding the compound like individual candles, flickering in the dying light. Shadows grew among the flames as they ran out of life to devour. Distantly, she could hear branches cracking followed by small bursts of sparks exploding as the limbs hit the ground. 

There was no sign of Tony or Carol and that meant no sign of—

“He’s going to be alright, Tasha.”

She didn’t turn away from the forest when Clint limped up beside her. Natasha continued staring, as if she could make Steve come walking out of that burning hell by sheer will.

“I should be out there, looking for him,” she murmured, brows pulling together tightly. 

She had tried. The others hadn’t been able to stop Tony from blasting off into the sky, but they stopped her. The remaining Chituari had fled into the woods for cover and walking in there alone, distracted by her fear for Steve, would have been a nightmare. Carol had promised that she would go look for him if the rest stayed behind and guarded the stone.

Natasha had acquiesced. For now.

And she was regretting that decision with every passing second.

“If Stark and Danvers don’t find him, we’ll go in on foot,” Clint assured her, his eyes on the forest. He hadn’t been happy about staying behind either, but he was also incapacitated, and it was easier for him to see the logic in staying behind. Natasha… not so much. “Steve wouldn’t leave a man behind and neither will we.”

Natasha turned then and looked right at the archer. He met her stare and she allowed him to see beyond her mask, gave him access to the heart that bled through her eyes as much as it seeped into the quiet words that left her mouth. 

“He’s my friend, Clint.”

There was nothing else she could say. Nothing else that was truer than those words. 

Clint’s expression softened, lips pressing together, his voice low. “I know,” he said lowly, reaching out and tugging Natasha into his side. She let him. Clint’s chin rested on top of her head and his chest expanded as he inhaled deeply. “He’s mine, too.”

Her eyes slowly slid shut, lips pressing together tightly. There was an ocean of feeling that lived inside of Natasha, it rolled and swelled and battered the shore’s rocks, spraying the air with white, salty foam.

Most of the time she was as powerful as Poseidon himself, keeping it all at bay with a guise of carefully crafted aloofness. But today, today she was nothing more than a tiny sailboat lost as sea, swiftly taking on water.

Clint was her anchor, rocking her lightly, keeping her from drifting too far. Natasha fisted the material of his shirt and said nothing.

“We got incoming!”

Her eyes popped open and she released Clint with a gasp. Peter was pointing to the sky and she followed the path of his finger, catching the dying sun’s glint on Tony’s suit as he steamrolled towards them.

Her heart sunk to the bottom of that sea the instant she realized that the billionaire returned empty-handed.

A cry must have left her throat because the next thing she knew, Clint’s hand was on her shoulder, holding her back. She shoved him away, eyes locked on Tony as he sputtered a bad landing. The others gathered behind them, the Skrulls and Bruce and Groot, but Natasha was rooted to the ground, her heart clenched in a tight fist.

“You couldn’t find him?” She asked and her voice cracked. 

The first crack of many.

Tony said nothing and Natasha felt herself start to crumble and she knew it then; she wasn’t going to break. She was going to drown them all.

“ _Tony—_ ”

The suit whirred then and Natasha’s mouth snapped shut. Metal plates shifted and peeled open, revealing not Tony Stark… but a nearly unconscious Steve.

The world seemed to stop.

Steve was covered in a frightening amount of blood and ash and there was a split second where he stood on his own two feet before his eyes rolled back and his knees gave out. Clint and Natasha were closest to him, they both rushed forward to catch him at the same time followed swiftly by Peter and Bruce.

“ _Shit!_ ” Clint grimaced, hand going to his injured leg as he took on most of Steve’s considerable weight. Natasha slung the blonde’s arm over her shoulders and pushed up, trying to take her share.

Peter was a blur of wild movement and panic, “Is he okay—”

“Careful with his back!” Bruce shouted.

“Where the hell is Tony?!”

Bruce ignored Clint’s shout; his eyes were wide with concern as he got the first glance of Steve’s injuries. Natasha watched the man pale considerably and carefully compose himself before he caught her gaze. Bruce swallowed, his voice low, “We need to get him to med bay, and quick.”

It was a group effort to carry Steve and even then, his feet still dragged along the ground. He was bigger than all of them and much denser than she would have guessed. In the hangar, the Skrulls had helped Bruce set up a basic medical center. They emptied a lot of the clinic, including a couple of roll away beds. Bruce steered them towards the closest one.

“Lay him on his front—gently, _gently_ ,” he urged and they tried to do just that. 

Bruce carefully turned Steve’s head to the left while the others untangled themselves from his limbs. Following Bruce’s hands, they all saw the large and massively swollen gash just behind his right ear. Natasha hissed at the sight of it, wincing. 

And then she noticed Steve’s back.

She went utterly still, her mind blanking out at the gruesome sight. His flesh had been stripped from his back; she stared down at muscle and bone. Only a few thin threads of his uniform remained and beyond that was a cloak of blood and dirt and pine needles

Next to her, Clint was cursing under his breath and telling Peter to go keep an eye out for Tony since the suit had apparently taken off after spitting Steve out, returning to the forest for its creator. 

Natasha had yet to even breathe. 

She was shaking and deeply afraid for her friend because if it was _this_ bad with his accelerated healing, she couldn’t imagine what it had been when he first fell.

Inhaling, Bruce composed himself and lifted his gaze to lock on her. “Natasha, can you start cutting away his suit? I need to see what we’re really looking at.”

On autopilot, the redhead walked to the supplies and pulled out a pair of scissors. When she returned, Bruce was carefully inspecting the gash behind Steve’s ear.

“That’s a nasty goose egg,” Clint squinted down at it.

“That’s putting it lightly,” Bruce murmured while Natasha got to work snipping away at the ragged remains of Steve’s suit. He took all of Steve’s vitals with furrowed brows while she worked away at the thick material of his uniform. Clint helped her peel it back, holding up Steve’s arms one at a time until they completely removed it. 

The whole time she kept pausing to watch the shallow rise and fell of his back, reassuring herself that Steve was still, in fact, alive. Wiping away a sheen of sweat on her forehead when she was done, Natasha waited for Bruce’s next instruction.

“We need to clean these out before he starts to heal,” he said, frowning. I don’t want all of that dirt closed up under his skin. The last thing he would need is an infection—”

“Banner,” Clint cut in, “I don’t think he’s going to heal that quick. This is…”

Clint didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. They all knew how bad it was.

Bruce pursed his lips and swallowed, keeping a very calm demeanor despite the damage he was staring down at. “Either way, we need to clean it out. The pain might wake him up and he might thrash, so I need you to hold him.”

Privately, Natasha thought this might be the only time either she or Clint could match Steve for strength, and that was just due to his injury. But even then, she was fairly certain it would take both of them combined to hold him still if he decided to wake up.

She sincerely hoped he didn’t because it wasn’t going to be pretty.

And it wasn’t. Bruce was meticulous, almost disengaged from the raw flesh he painstakingly cleared of debris and dirt, as if his mind had completely separated the fact that this was a close friend of all of them who was torn open to the bone. Natasha had a harder time, but she sucked it up and soldiered on, holding firm to one of Steve’s arms and one of his legs while Clint took the other two.

The thing was Steve never woke up.

Not even when Bruce used a strong disinfectant that had to burn like hell and that worried Natasha more than anything else. Though his back was visually the most brutal injury, her green eyes kept flitting to the ever-growing bump on the back of Steve’s head.

Just as Bruce was finishing up, blood coating his hands and forearms, they heard Peter’s sharp cry.

“Mr. Stark!”

All three heads snapped up just in time to catch the incoming suit as it crash landed into the ground, the power finally giving out completely. Peter rushed out along with Talos and a young Skrull. They helped him to his feet and Tony all but crawled out of the suit panting and sweaty but no worse off than he had been before he left to go find Steve. 

The billionaire staggered over immediately, Peter hovering nearby. His face paled when he got close enough to see Steve’s back laid bare. Tony swallowed audibly.

“Is he okay?”

Bruce hesitated and then chose his words very carefully. “I don’t know yet.”

“Is he okay?” Tony repeated, louder, his voice taking on a desperate note.

Natasha remained silent. She couldn’t blame him, she mirrored him.

“He fell a couple hundred feet,” Clint said at last. “Does he look okay to you?”

There was no sting in his words, no venom. Just simple fact.

Natasha watched the billionaire, caught the slow but still active flow of blood from the hole in his lip. It was clear now that during the fight he had bit clean through the flesh. 

“What about you?” Tony’s eyes flashed up and she nodded to his injury. “Looks like you could use some stitches.”

“I can wait,” Tony brushed it off

Her eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth but never got to respond. There was movement in her peripheral, another landing, this time much more graceful. Carol was met by Talos the instant her feet touched the ground. She nodded at something he was saying while her eyes zeroed in on the crowd gathered around Steve’s body. Marching over, her brows were drawn tight, the Skrull General on her right continued to murmur to her in low tones while her eyes stayed locked on Steve’s prone form. 

“You found him,” she said to Tony as soon as she was close enough and he half twisted around to face her. The billionaire exhaled heavily and nodded, his body all but drooping with exhaustion.

“South of the crash,” Tony rasped. “He’s… he was pretty confused when I first found him—”

“He was awake?” Bruce asked sharply, his head snapping up. 

“Just barely,” the billionaire told him and there was something odd in his voice. Dark eyes flit to the rest of them. “He wasn’t sure who I was at first, but he eventually put two and two together.”

They fell silent at that and Natasha felt a flare of hope ignite in her chest, something small but powerful against the darkness. 

Carol shifted on her feet, her face pinched like something was bothering her. Natasha lifted both brows in silent question and the blond sighed.

“I did a fly-by,” she informed them, her expression severe, eyes locked on the raw meat that was Steve’s back. She inhaled, “There are four more warships. All as big as the last one.”

Silence answered, as deep as the grave.

“I’ve seen them,” Tony spoke up eventually, his voice haunted.

“I figured. Listen, we haven’t seen the worst of this,” Carol ripped her gaze away from Steve, meeting each of their eyes. “Thanos hasn’t even shown his face yet. We won’t be able to fight all four of them _and_ five infinity stones by ourselves.”

Behind Carol, the sun had finally set, dropping below the horizon. Natasha’s thoughts drifted, tossed by that wailing sea locked inside of her. Above them all, a deeper blue began to roll out across the sky, giving way to night.

And with night came…

“Thor should be here soon,” Natasha murmured, looking to the sky as if the god would show up at the mere mention of his name. She swallowed heavily, “With him and the Asgardians, it’ll help.”

Her gaze slid down to meet Carol’s and the blond just shook her head, her dark eyes deep and somber.

“It’ll help but it won’t be enough.”

“Can’t you just,” Peter started suddenly and stopped, squinting at Carol. He gestured to the wreckage in the forest, tilting his head to the side, “Why don’t you do the binary thing to the other ships?”

A corner of Carol’s mouth tipped upward, like she found the kid amusing. Especially when he blushed under her attention. “Those particular powers are not unlimited, Peter Parker. I have to recharge.” 

Peter’s mouth made a perfect ‘o’ shape and he nodded. Carol took a long, hard look at the group gathered. 

“And by the looks of us, I’d say we all need a recharge if we’re going to be ready for what’s next.”

* * *

It was like a fucking clown car.

The three men were squashed in the front seat of the van, smooshed shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Bucky’s head brushed the ceiling, constantly shifting the delicate hairs on his scalp every time he moved. It tickled so bad it made his eyes water and shivers race down his spine. 

The back of the van was taken up entirely by some strange device that Scott had assured him multiple times was not in fact a bomb. Bucky hadn’t settled until the Soldier slid forward, assessing himself and finding no threat in it.

Scott was seated in the middle, knees nearly drawn up into his chest. Bucky had turned his back partially to the door, so his broad shoulders didn’t crush the other man entirely. He had filled them in on everything as quickly as he could, his words halting and clipped as the Soldier swept in and out of control like the air filling and leaving his lungs.

They had driven in silence after that, until—

“ _So_ , how is Cap doing?”

“Cap?” The driver, Luis, glanced at Scott with a tilt of his head.

Scott shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Steve Rogers. Captain America. People close to him call him Cap.”

Bucky lifted one brow and smirked but stayed silent.

“That’s cool, Scotty,” Luis grinned, nodding at his friend’s excitement. The van slowed as it reached an empty intersection, the light turning yellow. He glanced both ways. “Do I go left?”

“Yes.”

“This left?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Scott sighed as though directions had been a long running argument between the two of them. “What other left is there?”

Slowly, Luis inched the van along and flicked on the blinker. They came to a full stop at the red light. Silence fell and the blinker continue to _click, click, click._

There wasn’t sight of another car in any direction. Antsy, Bucky drummed his fingers on the door. He glanced at the two men, both staring straight ahead with ease, and he ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to keep his cool.

Another minute passed.

_Click. Click. Click._

“Just go through the light,” Bucky snapped.

“Hey, I already did time,” Luis reasoned, keeping his foot firmly on the brake. “I don’t want to get any cops on my tail nailing me for something else. I’m a law-abiding citizen now.”

Metal fingers curled into a fist and Bucky mentally counted to ten. Still, they sat at the red light.

“Either you drive or I’m getting behind the wheel.”

Scott’s brows shot to his hairline. He eyed Bucky and then slid a careful look to his friend. His voice was quiet when he suggested, “Luis, maybe you should just go through the light?”

“But Scott—”

Bucky growled. “ _Go!_ ”

The van lurched forward at the same instant the light finally turned green. Luis’ mouth dropped open and he pointed at the light with a wide smile as though he couldn’t believe their luck. 

Bucky groaned and rubbed his head, beginning to wonder what in the hell he was doing in this van when—

“Would you like an orange slice?”

Blinking, gray eyes slid open to see Scott’s hopeful smile. The man held up a baggie full of freshly cut oranges like it was a grand prize and instantly, Bucky remembered the airport and why exactly Scott carried around orange slices.

He had never seen anything like what Ant Man had done.

Carefully, Bucky shook his head and Scott’s smile fell. He dug into the orange slices himself, popping one in his mouth like Bucky and Steve used to do when they were kids, pretending the rind was their teeth. 

Frowning, because his head felt like a mess, Bucky tried to piece together everything. He eyed Scott as the man sucked the fruit clean off the rind. “Where have you been all this time? I mean, since Thanos. You weren’t Snapped.”

Scott went still, orange still stuck in his mouth. Slowly, he pried it out from between his lips, chewing carefully before swallowing down the tangy sweetness.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The quantum realm.”

“The what?” 

“It’s complicated,” Scott winced.

Next to him, Luis waved his hand wildly, “Don’t worry, I got this, Scott! You see—”

“Luis, no, it’s okay, we don’t need a whole—” 

But Luis didn’t seem to hear a damn word Scott said as the man plowed on.

“It went like this: my _tío_ , Estaban, he is the biggest antique collector in South L.A. He has the only collection of real Yixing teapots made from TianQing clay! They’re beautiful, if you’re into that sort of thing.” Bucky’s brows lifted slightly, more so at the way Scott had dropped the bag of oranges and was covering his face, muttering into both hands. Luis glanced at his friend and he blinked rapidly before continuing, “Anyway, he came up to me like a week ago and was like, ‘ _Aye sobrino, come with me. I know people got ashed and everything but I still need to keep up my shop if I ever want to get on the reboot of the Antique Roadshow they’re doing for Netflix and my barber Julio dropped the address on a warehouse with the goods. Let’s stake it out_.’ He came to me because he knows that I’m like, the Oceans Eleven dream team. But I told him I’m reformed now, I don’t steal shit anymore, I’m one of the good guys. Turns out he didn’t want me to steal anything, the owner of the warehouse is this scary cougar _abuela_ with the evil eye named Gina and she’s been his biggest competition for decades now. She buys up all these old estates and with all the people who ashed, her business was booming. Estaban couldn’t go in there or else she’d freeze his ass out, so he sent me. I got into the place, undercover, and I was whistling, you know, real secret-like, wandering through. She had lots of cool stuff, man! Like there was this lion statue that was made of solid gold and—anyway, then I saw this van and I said, ‘ _Hey. I know that van. That’s my friend Scotty’s van!_ ’ So I had to barter with Gina. I tried telling her, ‘ _That’s my friend’s van!_ ’ but she didn’t buy it. The only way I could get it was to take her out on a date which was super awkward when she kis—

“ _Luis_.” Scott cut him off, looking panicked.

Luis whipped his head to his friend and then back to the road, nodded quickly. “Right, right, right. So, that’s how I found Scott. He was stuck in the machine back there and if you press this button—”

Scott snatched Luis’ wrist, forcefully pulling his finger away from a very ominous looking button on the dashboard.

“No, no, no do not touch, _do not touch!_ ” 

“Oh, my bad,” Luis smiled impishly. He motioned in the general direction of it. “That button brings him back.”

Silence fell and it was one of the few times in his entire life that Bucky Barnes was rendered speechless. 

He blinked and Scott winced, turning to him, cheeks red. Ant Man grinned and it was more of a grimace, through his arms in the air in some resemblance of a shrug. “Quantum physics.”

On the opposite side of the van, Luis laughed happily, pointing at the large road sign ahead.

“Hey, look! We found the interstate and you were right, it’s seventh street!”

* * *

They had followed the billows of smoke like they were guiding beacons. The ground itself looked as though it has been transformed into dying coals, like that of a fireplace burning in a late winter’s night. The once peaceful meadow surrounding the Compound’s buildings was now utterly demolished. Bombed out craters littered the ground and much of the Compound itself, from what they could see in the light of the full moon had crumbled into rubble.

It worried him that there was no active fighting—that the whole place was at a standstill.

Thor stood at the ramp of the massive Asgardian ship, impatiently waiting for the ship to finish landing. His heart clenched in his chest, hoping against hope that they were not too late.

The god jolted when a small hand curled around part of his armored bicep. Glancing down, his brows pulled together and lifted in the middle as he stared down at Jane. She offered him a sad looking smile.

“Breathe, Thor,” she reminded him gently, her voice soothing to his frayed nerves. “We’re here now. We can’t change what happened, but we can change what will.”

Amber eyes softened as they held his and Thor couldn’t help but lower his forehead to rest against hers. Both slid their eyes shut the second their skin touched and together, they inhaled the strength and essence of the other. Thor felt Jane settle into his bones and he swallowed. 

She was stronger than most gave her credit for, his Jane. He had known it from their first meeting, though she was trapped in a bird-like frame, her bones, he sometimes suspected, were made of uru metal—the very core of Mjolnir itself. For all that she was human, she was his match in every way.

“Careful, brother. Your people are watching.”

Thor pulled away, eyes snapping open to land on Loki as he stood over Jane’s shoulder. He was teasing, but there was something under Loki’s words that gave Thor pause. The god held his brother’s gaze for a long moment.

“Good,” Thor murmured, pulling Jane into his side. He kept his eye on his brother while he bent and placed a swift kiss in her honeyed hair. “I would have _our_ people see my heart in love than one buried in cruelty and coldness.”

For a long time, Loki just looked at him. Then—

“Cruel and cold is the last thing anyone would ever think of you.”

The ramp hissed suddenly, before Thor could respond, and they all turned towards it as it began to lower. Humid summer air wafted in, coating their skin, wrapping around their bones. Thor wrinkled his nose at the overwhelming scent of smoke.

Grabbing Jane’s hand, Thor led her swiftly down the ramp the second it had settled firmly on the ground. The full moon provided them with enough light to find their way to the hangar where there was a makeshift war camp of sorts. Skrulls sat around small fires, resting and eating or closing their eyes for a brief sleep. 

Thor continued walking until he saw a familiar face.

Their eyes connected over a fire and the billionaire jolted, scrambling to his feet, a bowl of steaming food in his right hand.

“Stark,” Thor called out and the camp as a whole went silent. Swiftly, he rushed to him, taking in right away the bruises littering his face, the swollen lip and jaw patched together with a delicate black thread. Thor frowned, looking him over, “Are you alright? Is everyone—”

“It’s about damn time.” Stark told him plainly.

“My apolo—”

“What he means is,” a new voice cut in and Thor’s head snapped up, landing on Natasha’s muted green eyes as she walked over. She was smiling softly at him, “It’s good to see you.”

Thor heard his name shouted by a few others and he lifted his hand, not seeing who it was before Jane released her grip on him and walked directly up to Stark.

“Is your lab still intact?”

The man stared down at Jane, blinking. “Most of it, but the building integrity isn’t great. What do you need?”

“I don’t care about the integrity,” Jane told him, brushing it off. “I need access to anything you’ve got.”

Thor narrowed his eyes above the two of them.

“What are you planning, my love?” 

Jane slanted a glance at him and Thor knew right away he wasn’t going to like the answer. He braced himself, fully aware that nothing he could do would ever prepare him for this woman. 

“Well,” Jane started slowly and then the words spilled out in a rush, “clearly there’s going to be a fight—”

“—you are not—”

“—and so I want to be able to defend myself,” she gave Thor a pointed look. The two locked gazes and she didn’t back down, didn’t wait for his permission before turning back to Stark. “All I need is access to your labs.”

 _Gods_ , he loved her for it, even if he wanted to shake her.

“You’re the one who made those gravitational sticks with the portal between dimensions.” Stark narrowed his eyes at Jane thoughtfully.

“Yes,” she grinned and it was a wild, untamed thing that captured the entirety of Thor’s attention. Jane’s eyes seemed to glow, the amber shifting into something almost like fire itself. Her voice became a blade. “Did you know that they can also severe those bastards in half, too? I learned how to do that in London.”

There was a moment of silence. Then—

“Done,” Tony declared, eyes bright with amusement. “You, my scary little friend, can have whatever you want.” 

Jane gasped and clapped her hands. “Great! Thank you!” She turned on her heel and rushed deeper into the hangar, her voice echoing as she disappeared from sight. “This’ll be so fun.”

They all watched her go with varying looks of admiration and worry. 

“Is she always like that?” Stark asked suddenly, lifting one brow at Thor.

The god’s lips curved into something sinful. “ _Yes_.”

“Down boy,” the billionaire joked and Thor just smirked.

“How many did you bring with you?” 

The question shook Thor out of his thoughts and back to the present. He met Natasha’s stoic face, saw the exhaustion pulling at her from all sides. Thor opened his mouth to respond, but Loki cut in, approaching the group with no preamble.

“Twelve-hundred strong.” They all turned and watched the God of Mischief slink into the firelight. Everyone but Thor was eyeing him warily, but Loki seemed to ignore their hesitation, choosing instead to inspect the pot of food hanging over the fire.

The others glanced at Thor and he nodded in confirmation of the number. When they said nothing more, quieted by Loki’s sudden presence, Thor cleared his throat, his voice careful. “Any word from Darcy?”

“Last we saw,” Stark sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before wincing and pulling away his hand, as though he were checking for blood. Seeing none, he continued, “She and Barnes got out. With our comms down, they’ve been silent. Not that I think he would risk sending a message that could be intercepted anyway.”

Thor had known they got away, remembered Banner telling him so, but hearing it again eased something deep inside of the god. Nodding, he sucked in a deep breath and allowed himself a small smile.

“Good… good.” He glanced around at the group, eyes roving over those gathered when something odd struck him. Frowning, he asked, “Where is Steven?”

It was amazing, really, how quickly the air shifted, like all the warmth had been sucked out of it and even the fire itself had turned cold. Dread swept over Thor like the hand of death itself.

No one said a word for a long time until Stark’s dark eyes connected with his.

“Come with me.”

The billionaire led Thor away from the fire, Natasha and Loki following. At the lip of the hangar, there was a small makeshift clinic with a large white tent. Bruce was outside of it, sterilizing a slew of surgical tools when they approached.

The scientist lifted his head, his eyes tired until he took in Thor’s presence. They brightened significantly and he dropped the tools back into the sterilization chamber.

“Thor! You made it!”

“Yes, my friend.” The God of Thunder nodded, his heart beating faster, gaze continually flicking to the white tent and what he feared lay inside of it. 

When Thor said nothing else, Stark spoke up quietly, “He’s here to see Steve.”

Bruce’s elated smiled fell, as though he were remembering something tragic, and Thor’s heart fell with him. The scientist straightened and dried off his hands on a towel before peeling back the flap of the tent. Thor looked at him, at the grave expression on his face, before bracing himself and ducking inside.

The first thing to register was the sharp scent of blood and raw meat. Thor halted at the entrance, blinking in the dim lighting. There were two beds and in between them a small lantern flickering with golden light. The bed to the right was empty, the one to the left…

“What happened?” Thor asked, horrified, his eyes locked on Steven’s mangled back. 

Slowly, he moved closer to the man. His back rose and fell with his breathing but it wasn’t deep enough for Thor’s liking, not by a longshot. 

“He fell,” Bruce surmised, his tone muted. “From one of Thanos’ ships.”

Thor inhaled sharply. “How?”

“It’s my fault.”

The god turned back, seeing the small crowd gathered at the tent’s entrance. The youngling, Peter, pushed his way forward, eyes shining with tears.

“No, it isn’t,” Stark insisted viciously as the teen stepped in beside him. “Cap is a goddamn adult who can make decisions for himself and you are not responsible for his recklessness. Do you hear me?”

Peter sniffed, wiping his face with his sleeve. He exhaled wetly, “Yes, Mr. Stark. But I should have stopped him.”

“We all have tried to stop him before,” Stark gave the teen a flat look. “Never really works out, does it?”

“Still—”

“No,” the billionaire cut him off firmly. After a second of staring down the teen, Stark seemed to cave in and he sighed before making his voice purposefully light. “C’mon, Spiderling. You and me are going to get some food. It’s too crowded in here anyway and maybe after that, you can actually get some shut eye.”

Stark led the teen away with a guiding arm over his gangly shoulders. Thor watched them go until Loki and Natasha inched forward, taking their place.

Thor turned back to Bruce who was now sitting on the opposite cot. “Has he woken?”

“No,” Bruce shook his head slowly. “He’s been unconscious for over an hour now.”

Brows furrowing, Thor turned back to Steven’s prone body. It was then that he finally saw the true culprit. The ravaged flesh of the Captain’s back had distracted him from the large wound on the back of his head. 

The God of Thunder itched to reach out and touch it, something deep in his bones aching to ease the pain. He held himself back and the tent grew thick with silence.

Behind him, someone approached. He felt their presence like a cool night wind. “Thor…” Loki began, his voice very low. “You’re a healer.”

 _A Prince of Asgard has no business in the Houses of Healing_ , said an old and perilously deep wound that sounded identical to his father’s voice. _You are a warrior, fierce and brave. Leave the healing to lesser beings._

“I am not.”

Loki moved around him in the small tent until he was right in front of Thor’s face. The raven-haired god shook his head with a strange sort of insistence.

“Yes, you are. You always have been,” he paused here, eyes flicking between both of Thor’s, as though he could read his mind, see the very memory replaying in his head over and over and over. Loki’s voice became nothing more than a whisper, a quiet word meant only to be between brothers. “I know that father never allowed you that option, but you have the gift. Mother saw it… and I see it. Even as I look at you now.”

Thor’s bones cried out and he shook, just once. But he did not look away from his brother’s piercing gaze. “We have healers with us.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed with a slow nod, “but none as powerful as you.”

“I am not trained.”

A pause.

“No. But you _are_ strong and you know the spell.”

He did, had memorized it long ago out of youthful rebellion to his father, but that did not matter.

Thor grit his teeth as Loki peeled back his skin layer by layer with those gods-be-damned eyes. “It requires a master of magic, that is you, brother.”

“If you studied it correctly, you would understand that it does not,” Loki’s lips curled into a smirk, as though Thor was prey that had fallen directly into his carefully laid trap. “It requires heart and that, my big brother, you have plenty of. Too much, in fact, but you know this. The spell is about _intent_. Healing and heart, _that_ is who you are.”

The urge to reach out to Steven rose to a crescendo, an orchestra of ancient magic that had been buried and shoved away for too long. It was gaining ground now, a voice, and it would not be silenced. Thor felt it coil in his belly like warm honey; a golden, shimmering light.

“Please,” Natasha’s voice cracked through the tent and it sounded so broken that Thor’s heart gave way. She stopped at his side, lifting her eyes to him, pleading— _praying_. “If you can, help him. Please, Thor.”

That golden light pulsed through his veins, so different from the burning strength of lightning. It warmed him from the inside, it was softer, gentler than anything Thor had ever known, and unlike what his father had thought, it was anything but weak.

Thor’s eyes slid shut and for the first time in his long life, he reached for that magic that he had always been afraid to touch—the magic that had been beaten out of him. It expanded, golden fingers stretching out to meet him like a sweet hello.

The second he touched it, that light exploded like the birth of a new star.

He opened his eyes and exhaled. Loki was grinning like a madman while Natasha and Bruce stared at him with their mouths dropped open. He locked gazes with his brother in a look that could hold entire worlds between them.

“Loki,” Thor started, magic tingling over his skin like a summer’s kiss. “Oversee this?”

“Of course.” The God of Mischief’s grin became even sharper, knowing he had won. “But you don’t need me.”

Thor gave him a flat look. “Humor me.”

Loki shifted to the side, sweeping his arm towards the unconscious man on the cot with an air of drama that only he could accomplish. Rolling his eyes, Thor moved past him and realized for the first time that his actual skin had taken on a soft, ethereal glow. Pausing beside Steven’s bed, he lifted both hands and stared down at them in wonder, turning them over as the light shimmered and glittered. The magic sighed in response, stretching as though it had contained in too small of a box for far too long and enjoyed the newly gained ground.

“I do _love_ breaking that man’s rules,” Loki’s voice was mirthful beside him, “even long after he’s been dea—”

Thor reached up blindly and pinching his brother’s lips together with his thumb and forefinger, cutting off his brother’s giddy and vengeful rant.

Thankfully, Loki showed some form of common sense and did not say another word. 

Kneeling down beside Steven, Thor looked once more to the wound on his head. The magic sang as he turned his attention to it, as if it knew that it was the place to start. It was a large lump, the skin cracked in a wide gash, swollen flesh on all sides. 

Thor carefully reached up and laid his hand over the entirety of it.

At first, nothing happened and he feared it was not going to work. Movement shifted behind him and he heard Loki’s voice in his ear.

“ _Intent_ , brother.”

Inhaling sharply, Thor nodded. He closed his eyes, the swollen lump fitting perfectly in the cup of his palm. His brows furrowed deeply as Thor recited the spell he knew by heart (the spell that felt as though it had been etched onto the white of his bones from beginning of time). His mind drifted in the incantation, swirling to thoughts of Steven’s character, noble and proud, how he was a good man, perhaps the best that Thor had yet to meet. He thought of Steven’s leadership and his friendship, steady and true.

But it wasn’t enough.

Nothing was enough until Thor’s mind drifted to Darcy. The look in her eyes as she beheld the Captain, the way she seemed to draw out something quiet and tender in a man created for war. The young and budding growth between them. 

It was love, Thor realized, and it was love for the sister of his heart and for the life she might yet have with this man that surged through the god’s hand and breathed into Steven’s wound. 

He could feel it then, the way the bleeding began to slow, the swelling started to shrink, the skin stitching together centimeter by centimeter. Thor poured more and more into the gradually closing wound, drew from the ancient wells, until it all but disappeared.

And then Steven began to shift under his hand.

Thor’s eyes snapped open and he removed his hand, the wound was completely gone. The next moment, Steven awoke, inhaling deeply before grimacing into the stark white pillow.

“ _Steve!_ ” Natasha rushed forward and Thor nearly fell back as the woman slipped past him.

A firm hand landed on his shoulder and Thor turned, glancing up at see Loki’s assessing gaze. If he looked close enough, he could even see the smallest hints of a real smile there resting on his lips. 

“Well done, brother,” Loki murmured. “I will go fetch some salve from our healers for his back.”

Shellshocked by what had just happened and Loki’s odd display of kindness, Thor just nodded as his brother left the tent. Glancing down at his hands, the God of Thunder realized the ethereal light had drained from his skin, sinking back beneath the surface, but it was not gone completely. Thor felt it, sitting there in the depths of his being, content.

“Fuck,” Steven suddenly found his voice. He groaned and then hissed and tensed in pain as he shifted too much for his still ruined back. Exhaling after a long moment, he grunted out a deep, “Son of a _bitch_.”

“Oh Thor, you broke Cap,” sighed someone from the entrance of the tent. Thor was still gathering his bearings as he turned to Stark, blinking in surprise at the man’s sudden appearance. Stark, however, was staring at him in a new kind of respect, “That was impressive. You even got him to use bad language words. I think I even hear Brooklyn.”

“Fuck you, Tony,” Steven ground out, face still buried in the pillow beneath him. “God _damn_ this hurts.”

Snapping back to himself, Thor turned to Natasha who was carding her fingers gingerly through Steven’s hair murmuring lowly to him. 

“Keep him still. I will go see where Loki is with that salve.”

She nodded, eyes unusually bright. The redhead didn’t say a word, but her lingering gaze spoke enough. Thor offered her a kind smile. 

“He will be on the mend soon. I expect with his healing abilities and our medicine, he should be up and moving in no time. Not at full strength, of course, but better than this.”

Below him, Steven must have been listening and aware enough because he cut in with a firm, “It’ll be enough.”

With that, Thor stood and left the tent in search of his brother but in reality, he needed a moment of fresh air. Gulping in a lungful, the god turned his face to the glittering night sky. The stars shimmered, as if they knew his gaze was turned upon them, and Thor let their light fill him as he breathed.

Finally, he lowered his face back down to the earth and instantly caught sight of his brother’s too still form across the bustling camp. Loki stood out for his lack of movement. His back was stiff as a board, salve in hand as he stared out into the dark woods, like something had caught his attention halfway back to the medical tent.

The hair on the back of Thor’s neck raised.

He made his way to his brother, eyes shifting to the forest warily. Shadows lurked but they did not move, barren branched creaked and swayed under the night wind, but he saw nothing. Stopping beside Loki, the raven-haired god did not acknowledge him.

In fact, he wasn’t even breathing.

Alarmed, Thor kept his voice to a hushed whisper, his eyes staying on the tree line, “What is it, Loki?”

A beat of silence.

“We are being watched.”

“Should we send out our scouts?” Thor shifted on his feet, glancing back to see if he could spot Valkyrie among the crowds.

“Not into those woods. Not alone,” Loki murmured, his green eyes aglow with an otherworldly light and Thor knew his brother was using his magic to sense something none of them could see. “It’s strange, the way that Thanos is staying hidden. Something has distracted him… what that is, I cannot tell.” 

Loki inhaled deeply and finally slid his gaze to Thor.

“We need to prepare ourselves for whatever is about to come down from those ships.”

* * *

The elevator sunk slowly, and Pepper tried to keep her stomach from churning. FRIDAY had overridden Tony’s firewalls to grant both Pepper and Happy access into the mainframe level five stories deep below the tower’s ground floor. They had flown to the original Avenger’s Tower with one goal in mind.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Happy asked, his voice low, eyes locked on their reflection in the shiny metal doors.

“Not really,” Pepper admitted. “But let’s just pretend that I do.”

The elevator came to a halt and an Irish voice floated from above, “ _I will do my best to assist._ ”

“Thank you, FRIDAY,” Pepper offered the AI a small smile.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet hiss and Pepper stepped out, Happy on her heels. The temperature was a cool sixty-five degrees. The walls from floor to ceiling were riddled with blinking lights and cables and wires, some as thick as Pepper’s bicep. It was like a maze and for a second, stepping inside, the strawberry blonde was so utterly overwhelmed by Tony’s presence that she could hardly breathe. It was like she could see his fingerprints everywhere.

Sliding her eyes shut, her face crumpled. Three seconds was all she gave herself, three seconds to _feel_ , and then her eyes snapped open and she was moving.

“FRIDAY uploaded the map to my Stark tablet,” she explained as she pulled the device out and the screen illuminated with a schematic.

“Looks like we follow the main cable lines to the heart of it,” Happy tapped his finger on the highlighted path and she nodded. 

They both lifted their heads at once, seeing the large bundled cables overhead. Her heels clacked softly as they followed the path until they reached what looked like an electric tree trunk of wires and lights with a large control panel behind a protective case.

Happy popped it open and the two of them just stared at the line of switches and plugs, none of which were labeled. Pepper glanced back down to the table and squinted.

“FRIDAY?” She called out. “A little help? Which switch and cable is the mainframe for the Compound?”

“ _Mr. Stark has color-coded them. The Compound is the green switch._ ”

Pepper’s eyes flew to the panel and she saw it then, the thin green square surrounding the switch and accompanying wire. It was surprisingly small for serving such a large purpose.

Happy noticed it at the same time, but he just tilted his head, “We just… turn it off and back on?”

“ _You will need to manually turn off each location access to the main server by starting at the top. Systematically flip each switch off and then unplug the cable for that location. Wait ten seconds and then re-insert the cables individually followed by the switches. Essentially, it is a manual reboot of our system and should jump-start the Compound’s signal._ ”

“Seems easy enough,” Pepper shrugged, her heart pounding as she reached for the first switch at the top of the panel. 

There were five in total, the first surrounded by a red square. Pepper flipped that switch off and then removed the cable. She swiftly moved down to the next and repeated the process until all of them were powered down.

“Four, three,” she counted down under her breath, eyes locked on the panel, “two… one.”

It was quick work placing it all back in order and the second she got the last switch flipped on, she held her breath and waited.

Two seconds passed.

Five.

Fifteen.

Happy swallowed, “Did it work?”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head and wet her lips. “FRIDAY? Are you there?”

Silence. Then—

“ _There has been a complication._ ”

Happy groaned and Pepper shot him a look. Tilting her head up to the ceiling, she asked, “What complication?”

“ _It appears that rebooting was not enough. The Compound’s satellite has experienced severe internal damage. To get them back online, they will need a separate signal booster on the ground. One with enough power for our system to operate._ ” The AI sounded frustrated.

Severe internal damage. 

Pepper felt like sobbing.

“How do we do that?” She gasped out, and then a thought struck her. “Wait, do we have the equipment here?”

“ _Mr. Stark has a supply on the sixth floor_.”

Going still, Pepper slanted a glance at her old friend before inhaling, “FRIDAY?”

“ _Yes, Miss Potts?_ ” The AI responded immediately.

“Prepare the Iron Legion.”

“ _Excellent idea, Miss Potts_.” FRIDAY complimented her at the same moment Happy all but lost his mind.

“No, no, no,” Happy started right away, waving his arms at her. He finally resorted to pointing a thick finger in her face, his expression resembling a thundercloud, “I _know_ that look and you are not doing this. We made a deal. We come to the Tower, we fix the comms, we go home. You are not climbing into one of those suits and we are not going anywhere near there. Tony would kill me.”

Pepper waited for him to finish, lifting a perfectly plucked brow at him. “I know. I’m not going. We’ll have the Iron Legion fly the signal booster over, restore the comms, _and_ they can help Tony.”

“Oh,” Happy blinked after a moment. “Okay, you’re right, that sounds good.”

“ _The Iron Legion is being prepared for flight_ ,” FRIDAY announced suddenly, and Pepper’s lips curved.

“Thank you, FRIDAY. Happy and I will go find the signal booster. But before we do that, make sure to send the Iron Legion off with this message…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, folks. We’ve got a few more chapters of the second arc. It’s crazy because this whole thing has been meticulously plotted for months now and… and its finally all HAPPENING. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and sharing your love for this story. You all are amazing and mean the world to me.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://r3volutionary-queen.tumblr.com/) for sneak peeks at upcoming chapters, manips, playlists, random photos of my dog, and group freak outs over pretty much anything MCU.


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